


a sign of hard times

by floweringtooru



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Humor, Fluff, M/M, akaashi does music and choreographs (idk if that's a course but it should be), broke uni student au, dancers au, i know nothing in detail of the Japanese uni system, iwaizumi daichi bokuto and kuroo all share a flat and are broke students, so i've based it off of the uk's lol, suga oikawa and kenma study theatre and dance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-10-30 09:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10873887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweringtooru/pseuds/floweringtooru
Summary: 'You two,' Daichi hisses, 'were the ones who said they'd be happy to strip! And now you're backing out of this!' Iwaizumi nods dutifully as he holds Bokuto in a headlock, as Kuroo gently tries to pry Daichi's hand off his top. He doesn't budge. He shares a mournful look with Bokuto. They were trapped.'Okay, okay. Yeah. We were.' Kuroo admits, defeatedly. 'But this is different from stripping. Stripping involves you, and just you, humiliating yourself in front of yourself. This-' He gives Daichi a small push so he can free his arm, gesturing wildly to the studio behind them. 'Involves other people, other dudes, might I add. Other dudes who are confusingly pretty, and press against you, and have really nice thighs. And it's seven in the morning, which is far to early for a sexuality crisis.''I agree!' Bokuto pipes in, 'we should have just killed people!'. Iwaizumi sighs, loosening his grip on Bokuto.'No, Bokuto, that was still a bad idea'.Orthe broke, sexually confused uni students vs the pretty dancers au.





	1. Capitalism.

**Author's Note:**

> me: i should write about something i actually understand for once
> 
> inner me: do a broke students and dancer au
> 
> me: we know nothing bout dancing
> 
> inner me: u know bout being broke student
> 
> me: ok true
> 
> so yeah here we are. yup. I made kuroo part philosophy major and iwa study politics so i can live vividly through my faves. 
> 
> im sorry if it's shit i just like writing uni au's lmao enjoy my dudes ... also i couldnt decide if i should name it after the new paramore song, hard times, or the harry style song a sign of the times (leave me alone i love Him). so i combinded the two im truly a literacy genius

 ‘So what you’re trying to say—‘

 

‘Theoretically—‘

 

‘In an, uh, financially stable and, uh…--‘

 

‘Economically political?’

 

‘Yeah sure, we’ll go with that. In a theoretical, financially stable, and eco-political sense we are….’

 

‘Photosynthesis…ly’

 

‘Photo—no, wait, Bo, that’s to do with plants.’

 

‘Oh.’

 

‘We are—‘

 

‘Debatably—‘

 

‘Broke.’

 

Daichi’s eye twitched slightly as he observes the pair from across the table, before pushing the little black folder towards them.

 

‘This a record of our bills from the past month.’ Daichi sinks backwards into the sofa, folding his arms across his chest. Bokuto and Kuroo share a look, as Kuroo carefully leans over the coffee table and buries his nose between the pages. He squints slightly, and Bokuto peers over his shoulder wide-eyed.

 

‘Hmmm.’ Kuroo acknowledges.

 

‘On the left hand side is the budget that, between the four of us, we’re suppose to keep to weekly.’

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘The footnotes at the bottom is the equation of all of our incomes put together.’

 

‘Of course.’

 

‘And in the margin is a well illustrated picture of Naruto fighting Godzilla.’ Kuroo frowns and holds the book further away from his face, tilting his head slightly as Bokuto leans forward and scans the page.

 

‘Really?’

 

‘No. You can’t read it, can you?’

 

‘Sawamura, I’m not going to lie, I can’t see shit. I have no idea where my glasses are.’ Daichi nods solemly and pinches the bridge of his nose.

 

‘What about you, Bokuto?’ Bokuto perks up at the sound of his voice and sits up straight, alert.

 

‘I’m dyslexic.’ He says, blankly. Daichi lets out another pained sigh, an echo of a wince catching in his breath.

 

‘Bokuto, we’ve been through this, being dyslexic doesn’t mean you can’t read—you know what, just wait here.’ Slowly, Daichi pulls himself off the sofa and stalks back through the arch into their open planned kitchen. He returns a few minutes later clutching a tray of steaming mugs and twirling Kuroo’s glasses around his fingers, still looking unnervingly calm, the same way volcanos do before the trickles of smoke from their centres turns into spirts of monstrous lava.

Kuroo reaches out for one of the mugs cautiously, and carefully untwinds his glasses from Daichi’s fingers. He observes the specs sceptically.

 

‘I’ve been looking all day for these, where did you find them?’

 

‘The same place you always leaves them’, Daichi hums, blowing steam off his mug. ‘On the top fridge shelf. You put them there when you’re raiding the fridge at ungodly hours for food.’

 

‘Wow, you’re an idiot.’ Bokuto grins, taking a large gulp of his mug. His face pales for a second, then reddens, as his cheeks bellow with boiling hot tea. Eventually he forces the liquid down his throat through a pained whine, immediately gasping for air and clutching at his jaw as throat scorches.

 

‘Yeah,’ Kuroo grins from behind the mug, glasses pushed firmly up his nose, ‘ _I’m_ the idiot.’

 

‘Right, enough stalling, Kuroo I need you to look over these figures.’ The small black folder of dread sits back in front of Kuroo’s face, the now more focussed pages openly mocking him. The folder (or the ‘Death Note’, as Bokuto had so topically christened it) was jam packed with every bill, fine and receipt the four of them had ever accumulated underneath their apartments roof. He takes the book, carefully in fear of upsetting it out of susperstious hope, and scans the newest pages analytically.

 

‘Oh. _Oh_ ’ Kuroo flicks back between the pages and drops the book, as if it had scorched him, before  hastily picking it back up. ‘No, you’re right, this is _not_ good.’ He begins to trace his finger along the lines of the pages, taking one of the highlighters scattered across the table and underlining in red the collateral damage. His eyes stop scanning at one offending figure.

 

‘Bokuto, you _broke_ the hot water tap on the shower? _How?”_ Boktuo startled again and scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

 

‘I didn’t _mean_ too!’

 

‘Yeah, I’d hope not! Don’t know many weirdos who go around breaking bathroom appliances for fun!’

 

‘It was an accident, okay? I almost slipped and had to grab something, ok? I could’ve died!’ Bokuto hisses, looking suitably offended. Kuroo’s hands twitched by his sides as tried desperately not to force Bokuto into a headlock.

 

‘Could you have not have grabbed something more expendable? Like the shower curtain? Or just let yourself die, your funeral wouldn’t have cost as much as this!’

 

‘I happen to know, Kuroo, funerals are more expensive the plumbing.’

 

‘Then you have far to higher hopes for the quality of your funeral, Bokuto—‘

 

‘Both of you, knock it off.’ Daichi leans forward and pushes the pairs faces away from each other, putting a firm hand of both of their shoulders and forcing them both to slump back into their seats. His eye twitches slightly, again, and Kuroo can start to detect the first few dribbles of lava erupting from Daichi’s stoic expression.

 

‘Sorry.’

 

‘Yeah, sorry Daichi.’ Bokuto mumbles back, still hunched in on himself. He gives Kuroo one small glance and sighs, knocking their shoulders.

 

‘I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to break it. I feel bad.’ Kuroo gives a small grin, and ruffles Bokuto’s hair fondly, trying not to cringe as hair gel wedges between his fingers.

 

‘It’s okay, sorry I got so mad.’

 

‘I swear, you two have record short attention spans. You can’t even stay mad at each other! Right I need you both now to focus— _really, really focus_ —on the book in front of you.’ The two nod in unision, and Kuroo goes back to black binder. He carefully pulls out his phone, clicks on the calculator app and double checks the equations.

 

‘Who did the maths for this?’ He asks, clapping his hands together and pressing them to his mouth.

 

‘Uh, Iwaizumi did. Why?’

 

‘You want the good news or the bad news?’ Daichi shares a sceptical look with Boktuo, and downs his tea like a shot, wipping the excess liquid on his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

‘Hit me with it.’

 

‘Good news is, Iwaizumi is still the shittiest at maths, meaning Daichi you are still the second best at maths among us.’

 

‘Okay… that wasn’t… great news…’

 

‘A confidence booster, though.’ Bokuto adds.

 

‘I suppose… so what’s the bad news?’

 

Kuroo sighs and presses his frame further into his hands, he sends Daichi a sides ways glance before pealing off his glasses.

 

‘The equations are wrong.’

 

‘Meaning?’

 

‘We’re in more debt than these figures show.’  Daichi claps a hand to hos forehead and drags it down his face, as Bokuto moans.

‘How much worse?’

 

‘A good 3000 yen out.’

 

‘We’re doomed.’ Bokuto cries dramatically, fishing through his pockets and letting the small pieces of spair change scatter across the table, to prove a point. ‘That’s literally all I’ve got, that’s all my money. All of it until my next pay check.’ In an attempt to be a little encouraging, Kuroo pieces the change together.

 

‘Hey, hey, chill. Don’t threat. That’s still a good... 500 yen there, buddy.’

 

‘That’s not much.’ Bokuto deadpans.

 

‘No… but it’s over half way to a decent bento from the supermarket.’

 

‘The key is,’ Daichi begins to mutter, through a popping vain and a frantically twitching eye, ‘is not to panic.’

 

‘Yeah, yeah! It’s fine—when’s the rent due, we’ve got a while right?’ Kuroo begins to stutter, gathering the almost tearful looking Bokuto under his arm as Bokuto craidled his change, like a shattered ornament.

 

‘Check the next page.’ Daichi murmers from behind his hands.  Kuroo picks up his glasses, cautsiouly turns the page, and feels like he’s been slapped in the face.

 

‘Next _week,_ did Iwaizumi miscalculate this as well?’

 

‘Sadly, no. It’s marked on the calendar on the fridge as well.’

 

‘No one looks at the calendar!’ Bokuto cries defensively.

 

‘You’re suppose to, that’s why we put it on the fridge. So you have to look at it.’

 

‘But I swear it’s only been like, a month since we payed the last bill!’

 

Daichi didn’t even look up from this hands to observe Kuroo, in fear of totally melting down if he did. ‘Yes, Kuroo,’ he manges to spit out, ‘that’s how _rent_ works.’

 

‘Well, that’s a stupid system. Who has 58000 yen a month, anyways?’

 

‘People who live in apartments, apparently.’

 

‘Capitalism.’ Bokuto states in a wise, and defeated  tone. Kuroo nods solemly, patting his dejected friend on the back.

 

‘Capitalism.’ He agrees, sadly.

 

‘What the hell is going on in here?’ Iwaizumi appears from behind the front door, carefully placing it back on it’s latch. He looks mildly disturbed, and a little dishevelled, until his eyes land on the offending black folder.

 

‘Oh.’ Is all he says, and then ‘so it’s one of those kinda flat meetings?’ Bokuto continues to sniff under the shade of Kuroo’s arm as Kuroo stares at the folder like it’s told an offensive book, and Daichi still keeps his head lulled in his hands.

 

‘Yup.’

 

‘Sadly.’

 

‘Daichi craves death like a longboat craves wind.’

 

Iwaiuzimi sighs and plops his bag down next to the table, he gathers the empty mugs up in his arms plods into the kitchen.

 

‘You could of all warned me,’ He calls out from the kitchen, ‘I’ve got a friend coming over at seven to study, I don’t want him seeing you lot all looking like you saw someone die.’

 

‘Yeah, my future.’ Daichi mutters, finally resurfacing from his hands to climb out of the sofa and follow Iwaizumi into the kitchen. Iwaizumi repears with Daichi by his side, with more rounds of tea and his phone wedged between his shoulder. Wordlessly, Iwaizumi lowers himself into the seat next to Daichi and orders pizza, because desperate times involving financial worries could only be solved with desperate measures that involved spending more money.

 

‘Right,’ Iwaizumi begins, ‘there’s got to be a way to fix this.’ Daichi nods and turns the folder back towards them.

 

‘Bokuto,’ Iwaizumi points accusingly towards him, ‘how much has your salary increased now that you’ve completed your life guard training?’ Bokuto ponders from behind his mug a moment, this time only sniffing at the beverage. He shrugs and mumbles ‘only by, like 150 yen.’

 

‘Okay, but that’s still an increase, and you’re payed weekly, right?’ Bokuto nods and Iwaizumi scribbles something down.

 

‘Kuroo, you were going to take more hours at the coffee shop, weren’t you?’ Kuroo hums in response.

 

‘I was, until I got my new timetable. I’ve got an increase in labs, not a decrease, cause we have to start being lab assistance to the younger years if we want the extra credit for placement over summer.’ Iwaizumi nods as Kuroo gives a sheepish shrug. ‘Sorry, I know I said I would but I just—‘

 

‘You don’t need to apologise, we just need to know for numbers.’ Iwaizumi writes something else down and makes a nomcommited noise. ‘Ok, right, Sawamura what about you?’

 

Daichi also sighs in response. ‘At the moment, since it’s not my official job, I’m only taking on a minimal amount of cliants to train. I’m still technically gym staff, and until they decide to train me as a personal trainer then I’m stuck on the gym staff salary, getting the occasional bonus when they give me someone to work with.’

 

‘And I’m on a zero hour contract at the car shop, so unless I take up an extra roll there… we’re not going to get the money from our current jobs.’

The four of them sit in silence, all still glaring at the small folder. Iwaizumi takes to tapping his fingers against the table and Kuroo switches from the different pages, going over calculation after calculation in his head.

 

‘Bottom line is,’ Iwaizumi begins after a long stretch of silence, ‘one of us is going to have to take some extra hours, or find another job.’

 

‘Or an additional job.’ Daichi suggests.

 

‘And at this stage of the year, it’s going to be nearly impossible to find a zero hour contract that will accommodate our timetables.’  Iwaizumi adds. There’s a hum of agreement, the electric clock that sits on the mantle piece flashing accusingly.

The door bell rings and Iwaizumi pulls himself to his feet, rubbing at his eyes. He pulls the door open to reveal a somnolent Matsukawa.

 

‘Hey.’ Matsukawa greets.

 

‘Hey, Mattsun, come in.’ Matsukawa trails in after Iwaizumi and analyses the scene with a sceptical eye.

 

‘Who died in here?’ He asks lightly. Kuroo leans backwards in his seat so he can look at Matsukawa.

 

‘My hopes and dreams.’ He says seriously. Matuskawa nods his head in understanding.

 

‘Relatable’. He declares. Iwaizumi rubs his face as the door bell goes again.

 

‘Pizza,’ Iwaizumi mutters, ‘pizza fixes everything.’

 

He wasn’t totally wrong, a slab of pizza pushed in front of Bokuto was enough to at least eluvate his mood, as he happily chomped his way through pepperoni and sticky cheese. Daichi munched on it half heartdly as Kuroo switched between trying to drown himself is cheesy goodness and nibbling at a crust like man so starved of food he doesn’t even know what to do with it. Iwaizumi takes to angry biting at it, face scowling in concentration.

 

‘So, is anyone going to explain what’s going on, or do I have to guess from all your separate inner monalogues? Matsukawa asks. 

 

‘We’re broke.’ Kuroo states through a mouthful of cheese.

 

‘How broke.’

 

‘Prostitution broke.’ Daichi chokes on a mouthful of crust.

 

‘Kuroo, we’re not _that_ broke. Worst comes to worst we’ll all have to move into some shitty low band halls or something.’ Kuroo scoops his knees up and folds them over the arm of his chair, scratching Bokuto’s ear with his socked toes. He shrugs.

 

‘I have no shame.’ He states as he continues, Bokuto happily leaning into the toe-scratch.

 

‘Yeah,’ Boktuo chrips, ‘me neither! Although… maybe not prostitution.’

 

‘How about stripping?’

 

Bokuto considers it for a moment. ‘Yeah,’ he decides, ‘stripping isn’t _that_ bad.’ The three others observe the pair looking mildly uncomfortable.

 

‘You guys are gross and disturbing,’ Iwaizumi mutters, ‘and besides, nobody would want us to—stop petting Bokuto with your feet, it’s _weird_ —no one would want to see us strip.’

 

‘Don’t let your insecurities stop us from making money, Iwaizumi.’ Kuroo waves a piece of pizza at him, menacingly. ‘I don’t care if they’re there to laugh at us, or to have a good time. As long as they’re throwing money everything else is meaningless, there is _no_ shame in capitalism.’

 

‘Ride or die.’ Bokuto declares. Iwaizumi scowls and just flicks Kuroo on the nose.

 

‘Quit it, both of you, this is _serious._ ’ Kuroo responds by trying to childlishy shove his foot in Iwaizumi’s face, which makes Bokuto frown and prompts him to jab Kuroo in the sides, causing him to squawk, Kuroo using his own free hand to harshly ruffle Bokuto’s hair. Not one to back down from a challenge, Iwaizumi is half way through tugging Kuroo’s leg so he’s slipping off his chair, arms still clutching Boktuo so the pair are halfway to the floor. Finally, like a totally broken farther, Daichi rises to try and separate Iwaizumi’s grip from Kuroo’s foot, all the time with Bokuto yelping in annoyance and Kuroo spluttering with laughter. Iwaizumi looks torn between being amused and murderous.

 

‘Oi.’ Matsukawa calls over the caos. The four of them turn slowly towards him, looking wearily older as he sits upright in his arm chair. His expression is darker than before, and he leans forwards as if to whisper to the mash of limbs half on the floor.

 

‘How serious are you about needing money?’ The four of them  look to each other in turn, still a mess on the floor, and then back to  Matsukawa.

 

‘Pretty serious.’

 

‘Dead serious, Sawamura, nothing pretty about it.’

 

‘Yeah, Mattsun, we need the money.’

 

‘We’d kill a man.’

 

‘No, no— Bo, we wouldn’t do that.’

 

‘Oh thank God, I wasn’t actually prepared to do that.’

 

Matsukawa leans back in his seat and nods, pressing his fingers together with a look of dangerous conetemplation. He looks weirdly in his element, sitting on a source of power which he looms over the four of their heads.

 

‘Then maybe, maybe I could help you.’

 

Kuroo rises from the floor, squishing Bokuto’s head down to get hire, ‘whatever it is, we’ll do it. I’m ready to start my stripper career at a moments notice.’

 

Bokuto quickly clambers over Kuroo to appear hire, ‘Me too!’ he exclaims, ‘it’s my life long dream!’

 

‘I thought becoming a professional volleyball player was your life long dream?’ Iwaizumi asks from behind Kuroo’s shins, half way to hoisting Kuroo’s legs over his head.

 

‘It’s not stripping,’ Matsukawa lifts his finger, delicately. He observes the four of them a moment, when finally his forbearing face slides in a shirk grin. ‘not exactly.’

 

 

***

 

“ _I’m magic.”_ Matsukawa declares over the phone. Oikawa drops the plate he’d been scrubbing into the sink full of bubbles in favour of pushing his iPhone to his ear.

 

‘I believe you.’ He whispers sincerely down the receiver,  clutching onto the device like it was his life line. Suga, who had calmly been drying the dishes next to him frowns sceptically. He carefully places the dish into the drying tray and stands in front of Oikawa, mouthing ‘ _who is it?’_. Oikawa waves him away for a second, pressing his finger to his lips.

 

“ _I’ve found you some suckers for your pole dancing thing.”_ Oikawa huffs, scrunching his eyebrows together. ‘We’re not _strippers,_ Mattsun. I didn’t ask you to find any of those kind of dancers, we have Suga-chan for that.’ Suga slaps the tea towel against Oikawa’s head making him wince and whine.

 

‘Who are you talking too?’ Suga hisses, ignoring Oikawa’s squawks of protest as he grabs a hold of his elbow and tries to bring the phone down to his level.

 

‘Suga,’ Oikawa huffs and covers the receiver, ‘stop that. It’s Mattsun.’ He uses his soggy hand to Hold Suga’s face in place and tilts his left shoulder away from him, so Suga was left frailing underneath Oikawa’s palm.

 

‘Oithkwatha, noh fairth—’

 

“ _Too be honest,_ ” Matsukawa murmurs back, the hint of a smile in his voice “ _I think these guys are kind of disappointed that they’re not going to be stripping.”_ This troubles Oikawa even more. He hums and puts his hand down, leaving Suga to drop from his grip and almost topple over. Suga straigtens up and folds his arms, looking cross. Oikawa blows him a kiss.

 

‘Mattsun, you’re not filling me with confidence. What weirdo’s did you find?’

 

“ _Really, really, desperate weirdos. Trust me, they fit the bill.”_

‘ _Ohhhh_ kaayyyy…. Who are these weirdos?’

 

“ _One of them, wait two seconds…”_ Oikawa can hear the faint sound of a lock clicking shut and the shuffle of feet. “ _Sorry, this is all so ironic, I literally found you your victims—I mean props, today.”_

 

‘They’re not victims, or props! Stop being so mean!’

 

‘They’ll be lucky more than anything.’ Suga mutters as he goes back to dipping the plates into the sink. Oikawa winks at Suga, playfully, which earns him a small smile, an eye roll and to be lightly splashed with suds.

“ _Okay, well one of them is a History Major, another’s a—get this, a Chemistry with Philosophy Major, Oh my god, I’m sorry, I can’t. No, I’m fine— Right the other ones studying Applied Sports Science. And then the last dude is on my course, so Politics and Government Major.”_

 

‘None of them sound very…. Well… physical, I guess. They all kinda sound boring and sensible… besides the guy who studies Sports Science, but is he too beefy?’

 

“ _They all know each other because they’re all first string on the volleyball team.”_ Oikawa scoffs and rolls his eyes in a exaggerated and dramatic fashion.

 

‘Oh, oh well _lucky_ them. Hey—Hey Suga-chan’, Suga looks up from the dishes and cocks his head. ‘These guys Mattsun found still have _time_ for volleyball, lucky them, huh? It must be nice to have time to play volleyball.’

 

‘Oikawa, you could have easily gone pro with volleyball if you hadn’t overworked your knee—’

 

‘Ok thanks Suga-chan didn’t ask for a dramatic flashback of my failures.’ Suga just hums noncommittedly and continues washing.

 

‘Whatever,’ Oikawa sighs, ‘so they look… _physical,_ then?’ Suga appears back by Oikawa’s side and makes another grab for his arm.

 

‘He’s asking if they’re hot or not, Matsukawa!’ Suga yells in Oikawa ear. Oikawa forcefully pushes him away again.

 

‘Ow—Suga-chan stop tha—don’t _bite_ me, you child! Matsukawa has terrible taste! There’s no point in asking him!’

 

 _“I’m still on the line, you know.”_ Matsukawa drawls.

 

‘And I’m just in the other room and can hear as well!’ Hanamaki calls through the open kitchen door, not bothering to look up from the PS4.

 

‘Congratulations, you can both hear. You’re perfect for each other.’ He lets out one last sigh. ‘But they’ll do it, I guess that’s the most important thing.’

 

“ _Two out of four flushed furiously when I gave a vague  explanation, but yeah. They’ll do it.”_

‘Well, I guess that’s the only thing that matters, really.’ Oikawa grumbles, ‘since they’re the only ones we can find, and we’re already behind…’

 

 _“You know one of them,”_ Matsukawa pops in casually “ _The one from my course. He’s Hanamaki’s gym buddy.”_

 

‘Hanamaki has lots of gym buddies since he realised creampuffs equate to calories, and you have lots of course mates. Narrow it down a little.’

 

 _“You know, Iwaizumi Hajime.”_ Oikawa freezes, grip iron tight. He’s not too sure how much time passes where he just clings to the phone, eyes blown wide trying to remember how to breave. Somewhere along the line apart of his brain is smart enough to clutch onto the counter for stability. This can’t be happening. This wasn’t happening.

 

‘Fire him.’ Oikawa finally says.

 

‘What?’ Suga mouths.

 

 _“What?”_ Matsukawa asks.

 

‘I—I can’t, you have too. Like. No, Matsukawa you know how I _feel._ ’ Oikawa spins to Suga. ‘One of Matsukawa’s friends was _Iwaizumi_.’ Suga’s eyes widen.

 

‘You mean the guy who you’ve been crushing on?’

 

‘Suga, I don’t have a _crush_ on him!’

 

‘Yes you do.’ Hanamaki calls from the other room.

 

‘You probably do.’ Suga states sympathetically.

 

_“You do.”_

‘I do not!—It’s, more complicated—than that! And, last time I saw him— ’

 

‘You hit him in the face with a spanner. I remember, it’s when we went with Asahi to get his car fixed by Nishinoya and he was working there too. I remember it well.’ Suga says sympathetically, with only a hint of glee. Suga is a good friend.

 

‘Either way,’ Suga continues, glancing up from his phone ‘I’ve already texted Akaashi to let him know we’ve finally found some people, and he’s relieved and a little less murderous.’ Suga locks his phone and places his hands on his hips sternly. ‘So you’re just going to have to suck it up.’

 

Oikawa whines and pouts his bottom lip, until his face suddenly lights up. ‘But~’, he begins to sing-song, ‘We only _need_ three people, so bye bye Iwaizumi—’

 

‘Akaashi will need someone to choreograph with. So, to make it easier, it’s just best to hire four.’ Oikawa drops.

 

‘Are you doing this because you hate me?’

 

‘I’m doing this because I want to pass, preferably do a little more than pass.’ Oikawa sighs, knowing when he’s defeated, and turns back to his phone.

 

‘Ok, well thank you Mattsun.’

 

“ _So you’ll keep up your end of the deal, right?”_ Oikawa hums and pulls his phone away from his ear so he can flick through his pictures. ‘Yeah, yeah. Delete those pictures of Makki, if that’s what I have to do.’

 

“ _Delete them? No, send them too me. The deal was you’d delete them if Makki found you some guys, since I found them I want the pictures.”_  

 

‘Oikawa…’ Hanamaki calls from the other room, voice pitching slightly ‘you’re deleting those photos now… right?’

 

‘Don’t worry, Makki, I’m keeping up my end of the bargin!’ He calls out sweetly. Then he whispers into the receiver ‘I like the way you think, Mattsun, pictures on the way.’


	2. Mysteries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clenches fist*   
> *wipes away tears*  
> *flips table*  
> *silence*  
> It is done. It is finished. I am free.
> 
> literally this chapter took me so long to write and idk why... like... nothing happens in it. at all. why do i write so much for such little action. what am i. who am i. what is my ultimate purpose. idk we'll figure it out some day. until then, enjoy this lump of cgjsfKSASD
> 
> Also as a side note there was some confusion last chatper over money?... yeah, i just cant type, their miscalculated debt was suppose to be 30000 not 3000 i just can't count lol. 
> 
> enjoy kiddos !!

‘It’s basically dancing.’ Matsukawa declares through a mouthful of pizza. Daichi observes him from his seat, and shares a sceptical side glance with Iwaizumi.

 

‘None of us have danced before in our lives.’ Daichi states, looking slightly bewildered. Matsukawa nods and swallows, leaning over to go in for a fifth piece of pizza.

 

‘Well, we’ve dabbled in it.’ Kuroo says, nudging Daichi. ‘I mean me and you, we’re not _that_ bad.’ Daichi cracks a small grin and playfully elbows him back.

 

‘Yeah, I suppose me and you know how to bust a move or too.’

 

‘Don’t listen too them.’ Bokuto butts in, dead serious. ‘They’re terrible dancers. They dance like dads.’

 

‘Yeah,’ Iwaizumi agrees, leaning in urgently so Matsukawa’s vision was enplaned only by Bokuto and Iwaizumi’s desperate expressions. ‘Daichi still thinks the moon walk is impressive.’ Daichi scowls and shoots an offended glance in Iwaizumi’s direction.

 

‘I do not.’ He grumbles under his breath.

 

Matsukawa waves them off, noncommittedly. ‘It’s fine if you guys are terrible. You won’t be doing much dancing yourselves. It’s more like you’ll be…’ Matsukawa taps the crust of the pizza against his cheek thoughtfully, before nibbling at it. ‘It’s more like you’ll be danced _on_.’ His faces slides into a lazy grin as he eyes up the four boys in front of him.

 

A beautiful flush seems to root itself along Daichi’s neck and blossom on his cheek, as Iwaizumi tries to pathetically hide his own blush under a cough. Bokuto, not faking, inhales his slice unceremoniously, and Kuroo just sort of lets the information settle over him.

 

‘I mean, there might be a little bit of dancing, like moving around. But you guys are athletes so you should be able to keep up, right?’ His comment is met with blank, pinking stairs.

 

‘Getting… danced on.’ Daichi finally murmurs out, looking like he’s having an existencial crisis. Kuroo bites his fist, distressed.

 

‘Oh come on, you guys are all what, twenty-two, twenty-three? You can’t go shy on me now.’

Iwaizumi gulps down the fear and nods frantically as if he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

 

‘Yeah, we are. It’s just… I mean none of us have ever…’

 

‘Dude, Sawamura didn’t have his first kiss until the first year of university. None of us are gonna be used to getting danced _on_.’ Daichi is able to snap out of his trance to send Kuroo a glare.

 

‘Thanks for that, Kuroo.’

 

‘Always got your back, man.’

 

‘I haven’t even _had_ my first kiss yet.’ Bokuto mumbles into his palm, taking another grateful chug of Iwaizumi’s coke to stop him from choking all over again.

 

‘Look, none of you need to have done anything ever before _ever_ , in your entire lives. All you have to do is follow the choagraphers instructions and...’ Matsukawa waved his hands around in a grand gesture, letting his hands clasp together as if he was framing a picture ‘…look muscly.’

 

Daichi lets out another groan as Kuroo cocks a sceptical eyebrow. ‘And that’s it,’ Kuroo enquires, ‘no hidden catches? We just follow mediocre level dance instructions, and get danced on a bit?’ Daichi still looks a little sick and Iwaizumi lost, as if he’s not too sure what’s occurred over the past hour.

 

Matsukawa nods. ‘And you’ll get payed 3000 yen an hour for it.’ The silence in the air suddenly begins thick and tense, without a single breath taken or a heart beat.

 

‘Each.’

 

Bokuto starts choking all over again as Daichi leaps up in shock, causing the comforting hand Iwaizumi had on his back to fling off and smack himself directly in the nose. Iwaizumi clings to his nose, wincing in pain, but eyes immediately snapping back open in shock. Kuroo grips hold of Bokuto’s arm and begins to shake it frantically.

 

‘But like, that’s—if we worked ten hours, we’d—we’d make up the difference Iwaizumi miscalculated!’ Kuroo practically yells in Bokuto’s ear. He begins to hit Bokuto on the back to try and clear his throat. ‘Bo, Bo, Bo!’ He chants excitedly, whacking him to the beat.

 

‘I miscalculated?’ Iwaizumi asks, voice muffled by his hands over his nose. Daichi spins around and clutches Iwaizumi’s shoudlers, shaking him gently.

 

‘Who cares if you did? We could pay off the difference between us in—in—Kuroo in how may sessions could we pay that off in?’

 

‘In 2.5 sessions exactly.’ He called over as Bokuto finally took a gasp for air. ‘That’s a lot more than the change I had in my pocket.’ Bokuto wheezes out.

 

‘And then all we’d have left would be the maintenance bill, the damage recipt and the rents to pay off!’ Daichi exclaims, clapping his hands together.

 

‘Yeah, when you say it like that, it’s not as exciting.’ Kuroo comments.

 

‘How long do they need us for?’ Iwaizumi asks.

 

Matsukawa pulls up his phone and scrolls his phone and begins to read something, and then looks up. ‘According to Akaashi, the contract would be partially at your digression. They’d preferably need you twice a week for two to three hour sessions, either after five in the evening or before eight in the morning.’

 

‘Akaashi being…?’

 

‘Akaashi is the choreographer. Just do what they say, don’t piss ‘em off and you’ll be fine.’ Daichi begins to mimic Iwaizumi’s frantic nodding.

 

‘We can do that.’

 

‘I would do _anything_ for this Akaashi person for that kind of money. I would of _sold_ myself for that kind of money.’ Matsukawa looks at Kuroo judgingly with an eyebrow cocked.

 

‘Yeah, it’s probably best you didn’t go into prostitution, you wouldn’t have gone far with those kinds of prices.’

 

Iwaizumi wedges a few tissues from the table between his hand a nose to mop up the small trickle of blood, still sporting an expression of disbelief. Daichi guilty grabs another handful from the table and begins to carefully dab at Iwaizumi’s nose for him, muttering an apology.

 

‘So,’ Matsukawa claps his hands together, ‘you guys are on board?’

 

‘Sign me the heck up.’ Bokuto declares and crawls forward, pen in hand and ready. Matsukawa eyes him with another judging expression.

 

‘There’s no contract, I’m just going to text Akaashi and let them know you guys are on board.’

 

‘Oh.’

 

Matsukawa whips out his phone again and lazily types out a reply, giving a little nod once it’s sent.

 

‘What I’ll do is I’ll text Akaashi Iwaizumi’s number and Iwaizumi Akaashi’s number, and Iwaizumi can distrubte it to you guys from there. You won’t really need anyone elses contacts, since Akaashi’s in charge of it all. He’ll text you the details and shit once I’ve called to let them know I’ve found them some guys’ Daichi, Bokuto and Kuroo nod in chorus as Iwaizumi rises, beginning to pile the empty pizza boxes. He offers the last slice out to Matsukawa, who takes it with a shrug and goes back to chewing on a piece.

 

‘Well, now that—whatever just happened is all over, if you’ll excuse us me and Matsukawa have a political thinkers’ exam to study for.’ Iwaizumi stuffs another tissue under his nose and turns to Matsukawa, gestures towards his bedroom door. ‘Matsukawa?’

 

Matsukawa gulfs down his final piece of pizza and whipes his fingers on one of the napkins. ‘Meta ethics is my favourite branch of analytical philosophy.’ He deadpans.

 

The two trudge away, leaving bewilderment in their path.

 

Once they’ve disappeared behind Iwaizumi’s bedroom door, Bokuto is the first to speak up.

 

‘Why do I feel like I’ve just joined a cult?’

 

 

Matsukawa doesn’t leave until later that night, promising that he’ll let their—well, employers, technically— know that four of them have agreed to do it.

As soon as he’s gone, the remaining members of the flat find themselves slowly trickling into the lounge, crowding around Iwaizumi’s phone that sits flat on the coffee table. Kuroo sits on the floor next to Bokuto, his head in his lap with his laptop propped up against his chest, pretending to write up lab notes. Although his eyes betray him as they slyly pear at the device every couple of seconds. Iwaizumi pretends to go over his revision notes, but also keeps stealing glances, whilst Daichi shamelessly stares the phone down with a patient expression. Bokuto is the only one who seems to genuinely be distracted, legs crossed in front of the TV as he boisterously plays _OverWatch_ on the PS4.   

As soon as it buzzes Iwaizumi’s on his feet and grabbing for his phone, unlocking it with record speed. Kuroo sits up straight and swings himself around, Bokuto continues to play _OverWatch_ happily.

 

‘Well?’ Daichi wrings his hands anxiously, as Iwizumi scans over the message. Iwaizumi naws at his bottom lip for a seconds before nodding slowly.

 

‘Yeah, it’s all good. Basically. No hidden catches—This Akaashi person just saying they need us for their routine, and that we can discuss what exactly our rolls will be when we meet them in person.’ Kuroo pears over Iwaizuimi’s shoulder, looks over mournfully at his glasses sitting on the floor, and squints.

 

‘Yeah, I’m going to have to take your word for it.’  

 

Daichi takes the phone and scans over it as well, and comes to the same conclusion as Iwaizumi.

 

‘We need to meet them,’ he says, his eyes slowly focussing on the black folder, still sitting hauntingly on the table. And then adds ‘as soon as possible.’

 

‘Does this Akaashi say when’s the soonest they’ll need us?’ Kuroo questions.

 

Daichi tilts his head slightly as he mutters to himself. ‘He doesn’t real give us a date as such, though he sounds, eager.’ Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and takes the phone back, re-scanning it.

 

‘Sawamura’s being polite again. They sound desperate.’ Daichi frowns, as if he’s about to protest about being polite, but Iwaizumi beats him too it.

 

‘Dear Iwaizumi-san,’ Iwaizumi begins to read, ‘I was given your number via a mutual friend of ours, Matsukawa, as he told me you’d be interested in the roll me and my colleagues have been advertising. What we would require of you and your friends is quiet simple and not over exerting (Matsukawa informed me that you all play volleyball, and I wanted to reassure you this roll will not add any notable strain) and would be very appreciative if you do decide to accept our offer. We can go into detail about what we expect when we meet.’

 

‘They sounds nice.’ Bokuto pipes in for the first time, turning his head a split second from the video game. ‘They sounds like he knows what he’s doing. Someone whose got their life together.’

 

‘They sounds like an _adult_.’ Kuroo corrects glumly, ‘an inspiration to us all.’

 

‘I bet they don’t have any money problems.’ Daichi grumbles.

 

‘Well, I mean, not if they can afford the salary they’re offering’

 

‘Guys there’s more,’ Iwaizumi clears his throat and continues, ‘this is the desperate part.’

 

‘Although I understand you all have separate, busy schedules, we would be most grateful if we could meet in person to discuss the terms as soon as possible, for our time is begging to become a little tight. So not to waste it, please let me know as soon as is conveniante to you. Thank you, Akaashi.’

 

‘Fuck, you’re right, he _is_ desperate.’ Kuroo shares a glance with Daichi who shrugs.

‘Well obviously,’ Bokuto mutters from in front of them, mid way between chewing his tounge and yelling in exillimant, ‘they haven’t even _seen_ us and they’re ready to hire us.’ Bokuto mashes at the controller with a vengeful pashion, his whole body moving with his character on screen. Besides that everyone was silent, looking between each other as realisation sunk in .

 

‘You don’t think… they’ll change their minds when they see us, do you?’ Daichi voices cautiously. The three share a glance again, there’s a pause, and then Iwaizumi is scrambling for the phone.

 

‘Quick, quick we have to seem eager! We have to reply _now!_ ’ Iwaizumi clutches at the phone and waves it slightly, as Kuroo jumps to his feet dramatically.

 

‘Ok, ok’ Daichi splutters out, trying to seem calm ‘say—say we’d love to and whenever they need us we’re—’

 

‘No! Don’t say that, that makes _us_ seem desperate! Be cool, Iwaizumi, be cool!’

 

‘You were the one who said they didn’t mind stripping, we are desperate! Sound desperate, Iwaizumi!’

 

‘Sawamura don’t be a sell out, if _we_ seem desperate they might lower the wages ‘cause they know we’d do it for anything!’

 

‘Just say _something_ ’

 

‘No, don’t say anything, give it a few more minutes—’

 

‘Oi! Stop! You’re both confusing me!’ Iwaizumi snaps as he waves his arms about menacingly, still gripping his phone. On his second wave his grip loosens and the phone goes flying from his fingers, skidding across the table and plops down in Bokuto’s lap.

The three observe Bokuto, in silent shock, as Bokuto paws at the phone curiously. He sets down his controller, gives a quick once over of the message, shrugs, and happily types something out. It consists of about two sentences, maybe even two words, and Iwaizumi’s phone makes an upbeat swooping sound to signal the message was sent.

 

‘All done.’ Bokuto sings happily. No one moves for a second, besides Bokuto who turns back to his game, until finally they all move at once to scramble over the furniture and one another, tryin gto grab the phone from Bokuto’s lap. Daichi gets there first and snatches it away from Bokuto, who only gives him a small confused huff, as Iwaizumi and Kuroo grasp hold of his respective shoulders and despersatly peer at the phone.

 

‘Oh God, Bo, what did you _do_.’

 

‘There is nothing professional sounding about that at _all_.’

 

Bokuto looks up and pouts slightly, their small television set flashes the ‘ _End of the Game’_ screen and goes through the respective winning team and player of the game. Bokuto tilts his head so he’s looking up at the three.

 

‘What? I just replied.’ Bokuto huffs. ‘You guys can’t be mad, Daichi I wasn’t _rude_.’ Daichi twitches next to Iwaizumi and sighs, palming his face again.

 

‘No Bokuto, it wasn’t rude, it just wasn’t very…’

 

‘You put a _smiley face,_ there is nothing ‘cool’ about a _smiley face._ ’ Kuroo flicks Bokuto on the back of the neck and then turns his attention back to the crisis.

 

Bokuto crosses his arms and turns away from Kuroo. ‘I’ll have you know, the word _sure_ is a cool person word. It’s super casual, and it’s a combination of the words ‘yus’ and ‘sre’, which is French for yes.’

 

‘None of that is true, you bird brain. You just made all of that up on the spot. And it’s still not a cool word!’

 

‘All you said was sure with a smiley face.’ Iwaizumi repeats blankly. Bokuto’s expression darkens, and he begins to hunch completely in on himself.

 

‘Fine, you guys are right, I’m useless! You guys were all fighting over what to say and I thought it’d be obvious and  just to get to the point, and be polite! But no, I guess I won’t do anything ever again. You guys don’t trust me with _anything._ ’

 

‘You’re right, we don’t trust you, which is why your only flat responsibility is feeding sea monkeys, and even _then_ you get upset with yourself when you forget—’

 

‘Both of you, quit it, Akaashi’s typing!’ Kuroo snaps his attention back to the phone as Bokuto goes back to sulking.

 

‘Well?’ Kuroo asks, wringing the top of Bokuto’s sweater between his fingers, as Bokuto flicks between scowling at Kuroo irritably and the floor.

 

‘They say… good.’ The tension simultaneously leaves the trios shoulders, Iwaizumi even letting out a small puff of stressed breath.

 

‘No wait, they’re typing again.’

 

‘Oh _God_ —‘

 

‘They also says, would tomorrow morning, at seven, be too early?’

 

‘What? Yes!’ Bokuto squawks, but is immedatly shut up as Kuroo’s fingers leave his sweater and plaster over Bokuto’s mouth. Bokuto slashes his tounge against Kuroo’s palm, but to not development.

 

‘Say it’s fine, we may have already pissed them off so just say it’s fine! Grovel if you have too!’ Kuroo whinces as Bokuto takes to munching on his pinky finger instead and reluctantly let’s go of Bokuto’s face. Daichi quickly types out a reply. In a second, the thing makes a swooping sound again.

 

‘Well…?’

 

‘They say to meet them, at seven, in the TST Block. Studio 12.’ Daichi looks up from Iwaizumi’s phone, an expression of relief and dread somehow mixing on his face, like an expressive artists palette. ‘Has anyone ever been in the TST block before?’

 

‘The hell is the TST block?’ Iwaizumi finally voices, on behalf of what everyone’s thinking.

 

 

 

By 6:25 the next morning, or so the flashing number on the coffee pot claims, the four of them were reluctantly about to find out where the TST block was. Kuroo can’t help but feel a little grateful that Iwaizumi looks as dead he feels, gulping down black coffee in dry slurps as he glares down his surroundings as if he’s not entirely sure anything is _real._ Kuroo himself has adjusted his glasses four times, unable to find his contacts after spending five minutes restelling  his duvet, and takes to pushing dry cereal around with his spoon (He’d sworn off coffee after only three days of working in the coffee shop—“the things I’ve seen”, he’d muttered, shaking his head with a dead look in his eye, “would be enough to put you off the _thought_ of coffee.” Bokuto had decided it was just best not to offer coffee anymore).  There was no milk, because it was Bokuto’s turn to buy the milk, and there was never any milk when it was Bokuto’s turn until Daichi finally caved and decided, it was no longer Bokuto’s turn to buy milk.

 

Bokuto, who looked frustratingly alive and awake, already clad in sports wear after returning from his morning run with Daichi, sat perched next to Kuroo at the quaint kitchen table with a large grin.

 

‘You know, for the one who was complaining about how early it is, you sure as hell look awake.’ Kuroo mutters as he takes another large mouthful of cereal, crunching it slowly in hopes of catching a tiny bit of flavour on his tongue.

 

‘Oh, that was only because I was worried I’d miss the sunrise, it’s so beautiful!’ Bokuto chirps.

 

‘Oh, what a shame that would’ve been’ Kuroo says dryly, and mutters into his spoon ‘I hate you so much sometimes.’

 

Daichi emerges back into the kitchen wearing a fresh pair of joggers and slaps an encouraging hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, causing him to startle and jump from his slumped position, coffee sloshing over the cups edges.

 

‘I’m awake.’ Iwaizumi declares, unconvincingly. Daichi eyes him up sceptically for a second, before delicately removing the coffee mug from Iwaiziumi hand and carefully starts pushing him towards the door.

 

‘I’m sure you are, so awake  you can drive us to the university.’ Iwaizumi sends a despairing look over his shoulder, about to object before Daichi adds ‘unless of course you’d like to walk, that is.’

 

‘Oh!’ Bokuto waves happily from behind as he slips his trainers back on, ‘I could drive! I don’t mind!’

 

Iwaizumi lets out a pained groan and begrudgingly fishes his car keys off of the key rack, ‘No,’ he sighs ‘I’d rather crash my own car than let you have the pleasure of doing it.’ Daichi gives Iwaizumi another encouraging pat on the back and follows him out of the door.

 

‘Well,’ Kuroo hums, ‘a captain does always go down with his ship.’

 

The drive is quick and fairly painless, with little grievance in finding the building or parking outside it (Probably having something to do with the fact it was 7.am, the middle of the night for most students). Apparently, the ‘TST’ stood for _‘Tokyo School of Theatre’,_ which was decorated in gold print over the top of the building in the appropriate kanji. The building itself made out of opaque and reflective glass. It sat contently towards the front of the university with a small circle of metal picnic benches dusted outside it.

 

‘Does anyone,’ Iwaizumi begins slowly as the engine drags itself to a hault, ‘want to admit how many times we’ve sat on those picnic benches?’ He looks to Daichi in shot gun, who sits with his arms crossed and a contemplated look, to the back seats where Kuroo and Bokuto observe it with titled heads.

 

‘No, I think it’ll be best for all of our egos to not admit to our lack of observation skill on this one.’ Kuroo finally says. Iwaziumi nods and starts to unlock his door, ‘Fair.’ Is all he comments.

 

What’s even more shocking than their serious observation problem is the building itself that, when approached, seems to have maximum security. The four are greeted by an automated lock system requiring a pin, sitting next to a buzzer. Kuroo eyes it sceptically as Bokuto crouches down to the locks level analysing it.

 

‘I can’t believe you have to have a code to get in, all the other buildings you can just _swipe._ ’ As if to prove a point, he waves his ID card in front of the key pad with a infuriated expression, ‘even in the Chemistry labs, which contain dangerous, deadly checmicals you can just swipe your card!’

 

‘It makes me wonder what’s more dangerous than deadly chemicals.’ Iwaziumi murmurs.

 

Daichi wastes no time in giving the buzzer a firm push, and waiting patiently for the dialling to end. Someone does pick after a few long seconds, where a less than enthusiastic receptionist greets them.

 

‘Can I help you?’

 

‘Akaashi.’ Daichi immediately stumbles, ‘we’re here to see Akaashi?’ it’s more of a question than a statement, as for the first it dawns that maybe there _is_ no Akaashi. That maybe, just maybe, this is all an elaborate pull along set up by Matsukawa. Who would get nothing out of it but a good laugh that the desperate could really spiral lower into misfortune; seeing hope in an ambiguous, vague and (now on self reflection) rather cliché goose chase—

 

‘You mean Akaashi keiji?’ The lady over the other end drears. Daichi raises a sceptical eyebrow.

 

‘Maybe?’

 

‘They directs people to do things!’ Bokuto calls over Daichi, ‘a director-dancer, person’.

 

There’s another pause, finally followed by a rather sceptical ‘do you mean choagrapher?’

 

‘Yeah, the… photographer thing.’ Kuroo adds. There’s a silence that borderlines uncomfortable before finally the lady says again, ‘Yeah, you mean Akaashi.’.

 

There’s a small sigh and a shuffling of paper, before the red light above the door flashes into green and there’s a clicking noise from the door.

‘Second floor, Studio 12 is the groups designated studio for the duration of their project.’

 

‘Right.’ Daichi confirms, half way to pulling the door open.

 

‘Make sure you sign the guest book, and sign out when you leave. Will you be visiting often?’

 

‘Possibly…?’

 

‘I’ll need you to sign forms before you leave, and I’ll issue you temporary entrance codes.’

 

‘Thank you,’ Kuroo adds, ‘and just to check when are visiting times for the inmates?’ the lady on the other side makes a sound of acknowledgement, and Daichi jabs Kuroo in the sides with a stern expression.

 

‘What? Maybe she’d heard that one before.’

Iwaizumi doesn’t wait for Kuroo to decrement them further, and instead pulls him gruffly along by the collar of his fading t-shirt. As they finally ( _finally_ ) trudge into the building, it takes Iwaizumi a second glance over at Kuroo to finally notice.

 

‘Kuroo, are you in your _volleyball_ shorts?’ kuroo wiggles his way out from underneath Iwaizumi and brushes off his fading shirt, and huff offensively.

 

‘It’s all I _have_.’ Kuroo gestures to his outfit with a pained expression, ‘you guys said “exercise stuff” so I wore exercise stuff. I haven’t had time to go to the gym for months, and all my joggers have holes in and stuff.’

 

‘You look good bro.’ Bokuto comments sincerely as they continue to trudge down the corridors. As if to prove a point he gives a playful pat to Kuroo’s lower back, which ends in a harsh hair ruffle. The pair are halfway to entangling into some awkward embrace when Iwaizumi finally pushes them apart.

 

‘Says the guy wearing leggings.’ Daich mumbles under his breath as he studies the different signs, littered across the hallway. Daichi presses his fingers against one of the metal plates, desperately trying to count backwards in his head. Had they already passed through this corridor, and if so, how many times?

 

‘12’, he mutters to himself, and starts stalking in the opposite direction. Sadly, the four of them had been standing outside Studio _F,_ which unloads a whole trunk full of problems. He sucks in a breath and spins in to address the rest of the group.

 

‘We’re lost.’ He declares, honestly. ‘And I have literally no idea which way to go, or how this weird block works.’

 

Iwaizumi scratches at the back of his head, still standing in between Bokuto and Kuroo who look equally perplexed. For one dreaded moment, Daichi was left to believe that this was really just some elaborate prank, with half the university in on it apparently, until Bokuto’s face suddenly pricks up. His nose twitches, as if he’s sought out a sent, and his face suddenly swings around.

 

‘Music.’ Is the only explanation he gives, before he’s trotting down the corridor with an ear pressed to pressure points in the wall. Kuroo observes him, as if he genuinely believes Bokuto is onto something, whilst Iwaizumi prefers to watch from between his fingers. Finally, Bokuto comes to an end of a corridor before he takes a sharp left, and reluctantly the three follow in his shadow.

 

They end up, somehow, outside a studio, the only one with actual activity going on behind it’s glass frames. Three figures work behind it, talking amongst themselves with the faint beat of music to accompany. Bokuto stands outside the studio with a smug look, presenting it as if was his own work of art.

 

‘I found it!’ Bokuto sings happily, ‘and I am pretty damn _sure_ this is the right place!’

 

Kuroo twitches by Iwaizumi’s side, who quickly places a grounding hand on Kuroo’s shoulder and pulls him back slightly. Daichi looks up at the little gold plac, declaring _Studio 12_.

 

‘Well,’ he begins slowly, ‘I guess… we should go in?’

 

Iwaizumi and Kuroo share a blank expression and nod in agreement, although their shoulders are tense with apprehension. The music from inside picks up slightly, and the voices hault as the beat picks up, quick and underpinned with a heavy piece. From the outside the pitch was hardly audible but the fast pace shook the floor they stood on, and Daichi paled slightly.

 

‘Yeah,’ Iwaizumi says, nawing at his bottom lip, ‘maybe… give it a second…’

 

From behind the opaque glass a shadow rises slightly from the floor, then fully, before being lowered again by one of the other figures. Another observes, sometimes walking towards the pair moving together. The voices pick up again, one distinctly high pitched, which makes Iwaizumi’s head tilt in interest.

 

‘What do you thinks going on in there?’ Bokuto asks, his ear returning to the glass wall. His face scrunches up in a tight expression as he continues to listen. Until, suddenly, there isn’t a wall, only open air, and he finds himself toppling forwards with his elbow brushing another. His face firmly hits the floor with an unceremonious squawk, and he stares up at the person in the doorway.

 

It wasn’t a wall, it was a slidy door. Which, on reflection, made more sense.

 

‘Can I help you?’ The identiless figure asks, now standing in the light is finally eliminated with actual human features. For a start _it_ is a _he,_ with a lean frame and well defined arms, dishevelled thick black hair and light grey eyes, down casted on Bokuto.

 Bokuto, in all his shameless glory, stares right back up with a slacked jaw and an expression as if he’d been slapped. By an angel.

 

‘Maybe?’ Daichi steps forward with Iwaizumi, who holds out his phone awkwardly. ‘We’re looking for someone called Akaashi?’ He asks, slightly awkwardly. The boy cocks a sceptical eyebrow and carefully takes hold of Iwaizumi’s phone. He glances at the screen quickly and looks back up, sending another curious glance down at Bokuto.

 

‘Does he need help?’ the boy asks cautiously, which erns a splutter of ‘I’m fine, fine!’ from Bokuto. Regardless, the boy bends down and carefully helps Bokuto to his feet, surprisingly strong enough to hoist Bokuto and all his muscle. Bokuto continues to observe the boy with an open expression, like he’d been graced with something truly stupendous.

 

The boy doesn’t seem to mind much, or notice, and instead simply hands the phone back to Iwaizumi.

 

‘I’m Akaashi.’ The boy says calmly, brushing a strand of his hair out of his eyes. ‘I take it you’re Matsukawa’s friends?’

 

There’s a stunned silence, as the prospect settles amongst them that Akaashi might actually be a _boy._  A very attractive boy, at that, with parted lips and a flush that creeps around his ears and settles nicely on his cheeks. It takes a few more stunned blinks until finally Daichi talks.

 

‘Yes, yes we are. I’m Sawamura, and Iwaizumi was the one you’ve been messaging.’ Iwaizumi stumbles forward as well, and mummers out a small ‘Hey’. Akaashi looks the four of them over like he’d swept over the phone screen.

 

‘And this is Kuroo.’ Daichi quickly pushes a shocked Kuroo forward, ‘and that’s—that’s Bokuto.’ Kuroo quickly elbows Bokuto, who hasn’t really moved, yelping at the contact.

 

‘Hey!’ Bokuto manages out stiffly. Akaashi observes him once more, a little synically, before stepping back in.

 

‘Come in, we’ve only been warming up.’ Akaashi says, as the four of them trudge in after his elligant figure.

 

There’s another pause when they’re finally met with the full cast of their employers, accompanying Akaashi are two more unexpected figures, clad in flattering work out clothing and bickering playfully over a water bottle.

 

It seems like the visual comes like a train colliding with a brick wall, a revulation that could probably work it’s way into some form of philosophical thought, for it was revolutionary in itself. For it had not occurred to a single one of them, that these dancers could be—

 

‘Boys’. Kuroo, says dumbly.

 

With a dry mouth and a sorrowful expression, he drags Bokuto to his ear and hisses, ‘they’re all _boys._ ’ Bokuto spins to face him with a blank expression as he glances between Iwaizumi and Daichi’s unreadable faces, and the three new boys, who eye them curiously from the back of the room.

 

‘If they’re all boys… and we’re all boys then who…?’

 

‘…Are we dancing with?’ Iwaizumi finishes for him.

 

‘… is flying the plane.’ Bokuto says, almost triumphantly. It earns him another elbow to the side, and Kuroo is about to grab for Iwaizumi’s shoulder to desperately ask him the same thing, when Iwaizumi becomes rigid, eyes cast on the tallest boy, whose eyes fall on him.

 

‘Oh.’ The tall boy says, ‘ _oh,_ he did come.’

 

 


	3. Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Are you telling me,’ Akaashi begins slowly, ‘you all signed up to this job, without any idea what it entails? All you knew was that involved provocative dancing, and money?’
> 
> ‘Okay when you put it like that, it sounds bad.’ Dishevelled begins, scratching at his chin. He says nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahahahahahahha  
> im so sorry. like so sorry.  
> idk how to function as a person, so that's why this fic practically looks abandoned. idk how to be a human and have exams at the same time. but hey that's over first year of uni is over and i made it sort of kinda maybe.  
> this fic will now (hopefully) have beatiful regular updates!!! as nothing continues to happen!!! at all!!! ahhh!!!  
> but for real im so sorry if anyone is still there, immma keep going with this because i like it and even if it's impossibly hard to write, super fun!! 
> 
> ... dudes i really am sorry it's stll kinda crap

‘What. The hell.’ Iwaizumi growls.

 

There’s a cruel, drawling moment where no one speaks. Iwaizumi only looks at _him_ , and he looks back at Iwaizumi, so weirdly honest looking and venerable in the early morning light, as it peaks from behind the glass horizon. Iwaizumi looks _weird,_ like he’s seen his reflection for the first time, or maybe like he’d seen it before, but not for a while, shocked and confused to see how limbs distraught and grow longer, how features define and hair changes.

Either way, Daichi concludes that all four of them are being, really, really rude. They gawk at the two new additional _boys_ ( _Boys,_ not _they’s_ but boys, boys with flesh and boy faces and boy hands and boy _features_ ) like the human _male_ is a whole new revelation that only they have the pleasure of discovering. Kuroo and Bokuto look rather comical, Bokuto unsure if he should keep staring down this Akaashi person or switch his interest to the two new _boys_ , and Kuroo just looks like someone had smacked him and then wounded him for kicks.

 

Iwaizumi looks like any words he had formed have died on his tongue and dropped through his open fingers, seeping away from him. He continues to stare, expression changing rapidly from shock, then to maybe confusion, then something that rings alarm bells in Daichi’s head, then to something more calmer, and then suddenly he looks like a code orange—

 

‘Would you excuse us, just for two seconds?’ Daichi finally squeaks out, slamming a hand on Iwaizumi firmly and slowly gripping a hold of Kuroo’s shirt, a warning. He plasters on a grin, focussing his energy on not letting his eye twitch, and beams like nothing is wrong.

 

He catches the eye of the shortest of the trio, who sucks at a water bottle casually. The other boy, who isn’t the Tall Boy or the Akaashi Boy, has ash hair that shines like glossed pearls and doe brown eyes, flush lips that tug upwards teasingly when he catches Daichi looking at him. And it’s enough, more than enough.

 

Akaashi eyes the four of them carefully, lips poised.

‘Sure…’ he finally says, ‘we’ll be in here.’

 

‘Thanks.’ Daichi chokes before he’s hastily pushing a stunned Bokuto back out and drags Kuroo behind him. Iwaizumi casts another dangerous expression over his shoulder and then storms out after them, slinking down the edge of the corridor.

 

‘Well,’ Kuroo finally says as he staggers out of Daichi’s grip, ‘I’m ready to run for the hills and forget any of this ever happened when you guys are?’

Bokuto ponders for a minute and nods his head slowly, ‘Id rather drive, if it’s all the same.’

 

Daichi and Iwaizumi share a look, an arch of an eyebrow, and then they’re moving into action. Daichi wastes no time in shoving Kuroo against the glass panelling with a fist full of his shirt, whilst Iwaizumi wraps his arm around Bokuto’s kneck and ducks him into a firm headlock.

 

You two,' Daichi hisses, 'were the ones who said they'd be happy to strip! And now you're backing out of this!' Iwaizumi nods dutifully as he holds Bokuto in a headlock, as Kuroo gently tries to pry Daichi's hand off his top. He doesn't budge. Kuroo shares a mournful look with Bokuto. They were trapped.

'Okay, okay. Yeah. We were.' Kuroo admits, defeatedly. 'But this is different from stripping. Stripping involves you, and just you, humiliating yourself in front of yourself. This—' He gives Daichi a small push so he can free his arm, gesturing wildly to the studio behind them. '—Involves other people, other dudes, might I add. Other dudes who are confusingly pretty, and press against you, and have really nice thighs. And it's seven in the morning, which is far to early for a sexuality crisis.'

'I agree!' Bokuto pipes in, 'we should have just killed people!'. Iwaizumi sighs, loosening his grip on Bokuto.

'No, Bokuto, that was still a bad idea'.

Daichi groans, ‘We don’t even know what they want from us yet.’ He mutters, but doesn’t meet Kuroo’s eyes.

‘We know they’re going to _dance_ on us, whatever that means!’ Kuroo eyes the other three sceptically with a scowl. He focuses his eyes on Iwaizumi.

‘And you—what the hell was that all about, who’s the guy at the back?’

Iwaizumi opens his mouth and then closes it again, then lets his brow furrow in a scowl to match, and probably beat, Kuroo’s.

‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Kuroo.’

‘Oh _please_! The tall one, pretty hair—one who you stared down for like a sold year, one who your swore at, who is he?’

‘Hell is not a swear word, where are we? Church?’ Kuroo narrows his eyes and Iwaizumi throws his spair arm up in the air, exasperated.

‘Just,’ Iwaizumi begins, looking fairly flustered ‘just some guy I know, or used to know, it’s complicated!’

‘We’ve been here for five minutes, and we’re already a rom-com. Nice job Romeo.’ Iwaizumi looks murderous, forgetting Bokuto and letting him wiggle from his grip, taking a menacing step foward.

‘I am _not_ a rom-com. It’s way more complicated than that.’

‘Fine, a drama, _film-noir, a_ period drama—take your pick.’

‘ I’m for sure as _hell_ no damn period drama, you idiot.’

‘Oh yeah, sure, I’m the idiot, the one who suggested a U-turn when I realised we’d fucked up. I bet you think a period drama is a dramaturgy about punctuation.’

‘I’m so glad that’s the way you chose to take that joke,’ Daichi breathes, before giving Kuroo another forceful shove. He then sets his ‘dad glare’ on Iwaizumi.

‘The two of you need to calm down. _Now.’_

There’s a tense moment where Iwaizumi looms only a foot away from where Daichi pins Kuroo, staggered by Daichi’s glare. Iwaizumi’s shoulders finally sag as the tension slowly seethes from his body, but his face stays set.

‘Whatever,’ Iwaizumi grumbles, ‘just leave it.’

Kuroo sighs and uses his free hand to rub over his face. ‘Iwaizumi’, he says, sounding slightly pained ‘I don’t want to start a fight with you. Or anyone for that matter.’ He sends a potent look at Daichi, who finally lets go of Kuroo and choses to step back next to Bokuto.

‘All I’m saying is, is this a situation we’re going to be comfortable with?’

‘You were fine when we thought it was girls.’ Iwaizumi mumbles, ‘didn’t pin you down for that kind of person.’

Something in Kuroo’s expressions softens until it becomes placid, and maybe a little hurt.

‘It’s because I’m not,’ he says softly. ‘I just…’ the words die in his throat.

‘I don’t want anything _awkward_ to happen.’ Bokuto says for him, ‘something _awkward_ that I can’t _control_.’

Kuroo claps his hands together in relief, ‘Thank God, somebody finally said it!’

There’s a flat silence, and then a heavy sigh from Daichi. The three of them turn to look at him as he scratches the back of his head, fingers dancing over his hair line. He can almost feel the ghost of a rusty iron frame bed, the halls peeling walls flashing behind his eyes. It’s acceptance, he thinks, acceptance that the next words that leave his lips will be to call this whole thing off, to face the bills and accept defeat. To trudge back home and pack his things because they’re all to godamn _awkward_ to dance their way back into financial security.

‘We’re not that awkward.’ A small voice says.

The three of them turn to see someone observing them through careful eyes, and a blank expression. It’s another boy, with golden hair pulled back into a loose pony tail, oversized hoodie bunched up at the elbow and small hands gripping hold of a nibbled _McDonalds_ apple pie by the looks of it. He doesn’t really look at any of them directly, more like the spaces between them.

‘I mean,’ he continues to murmur, ‘Sugawara and Oikawa-san aren’t.’ His voice seems to match his size well, small and like it’s a dimension away from disappearing entirely.

 _It’s adorable,_ Kuroo thinks, and then _how do I protect it,_ and finally _oh for fuck sakes—_

‘Oh, no, please don’t be offended, we didn’t mean _you_ were awkward—‘ Daichi tries to salvage, sending a pleading glance at Iwaizumi who looks just as bewildered. The boy takes a step back and fiddles with his sleeve, like he’s desperate for something to do.

‘We’re awkward.’ Kuroo blurts out, before he can stop himself. ‘Like super awkward, like, uh, early Naruto seasons awkward.’ The newcomer tilts his head slightly, and then gives a shrug.

‘Okay,’ is all he says, and then, ‘I’m Kenma.’

‘We’re Kuroo.’ Kuroo, says automatically. Bokuto winces _for_ him, (which somehow makes it all a bit worse when Bokuto, _Bokuto,_ is embarrassed for you) ‘I mean _I’m_ Kuroo.’

‘Okay,’ _Kenma_ says again, and then mutters ‘please don’t leave.’ And then he scurries off, a logical guess being into the studio.

Daichi whistles lowley, ‘That was smooth, Kuroo.’

‘Like velvet.’ Iwaizumi comments.

‘Like a fish.’ Adds Bokuto, and then ‘no, wait, that doesn’t really make sense.’

Kuroo sucks a deep breath in and spins back to turn to his friends, ‘Well?’

To begin with, nobody says anything.

 

 

‘I’ve fucked it.’ Oikawa mumbles from between his fingers, ‘I shouldn’t have said _anything,_ I should have just shut up and stayed _quiet._ ’ Suga crouches by where Oikawa has decided to break down and fold in on himself, patting his back comfortingly.

‘Well, things normally work better for us when you do.’ Akaashi mumbles as he sits crossed legged, his coursework folder propped against his knees, ‘we don’t really have the time or budget to find anyone else, so for your own sakes you better hope you haven’t.’

Suga sends Akaashi a scowl, who doesn’t even bother looking up from his notes. So instead he gives Oikawa’s hair an encouraging ruffle.

‘I’m sure it’ll all be fine. They’re desperate, remember? I’m sure something as small and insignificant as a broken relationship coming to its climax after years of avoidance and heated encounters will be enough to stop them.’ Suga says rather cheerfully, until he hears his own voice and frowns, ‘No, wait.’

‘I’ve fucked it.’ Oikawa confirms glumly. He rolls out onto his back and whines. ‘I should have just pretend I was blind, or something.’

‘How would that have changed anything?’ Akaashi mutters as he plucks a pen from his pencil case and scribbles something down, ‘you can’t really dance blind.’

‘Yes you can, I would have been the next _Billy Elliot_ or something.’

Akaashi sighs heavily and snaps his folder shut.

‘Billy Eillot wasn’t _blind,_ he was a coal minors son. Did you even pay attention to European Theatre Studies?’

‘Nope, not at all.’ Oikawa states, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously, ‘I just presumed he was blind because Westerner’s are obsessed with people being blind. Like _Eliza Doolittle_.’

‘Eliza wasn’t blind either, Oikawa, she was a flower girl.’

‘Oh whatever, I meant blind to the crushing Bourgeoisie who through a neoliberal incentive created their depressing situations anyways, I don’t care! The point is we’re screwed!’ Oikawa groans and returns his hands to his face. There’s a silence, as Suga pears over at Oikawa and pokes his shoulder.

‘That was pretty deep.’ Suga states. ‘You know, if you’d written that in the exam you probably wouldn’t have had to repeat the module.’ Oikawa retreats an arm from his face to whack Suga.

‘We’ll give them another few more minutes’, Akaashi says calmly, ‘and if they don’t come back in by then we’ll presume Oikawa has ruined the whole incentive and go back to square one.’

Oikawa lets out another high pitched whine, and Akaashi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. ‘Until then, we’ll start doing warm up stretches.’

 

Suga stands and tugs a reluctant Oikawa to his feet, half way through lugging him to his knees Kenma shuffles his way into the room. He nibbles nervously at the edges of his McDonald’s apple pie and still has one small earbud wedged in his ear, rolling the second one around in his finger skittishly.

 

‘Kozume-san,’ Akaashi greets, ‘you’re late.’

 

‘Not that late.’ He mumbles as he sheds his back pack, fishing his ballet shoes form inside, ‘was hungry.’

 

‘Too be fair, this is pretty good timing for Kenma. Nice job!’ Suga grins and pats Kenma encouragingly on the back, Kenma doesn’t look any less tense but he doesn’t move away from the touch either. Instead he shuffles himself into his shoes, and sends a nervous glance back to the door.

 

‘I met the props.’ He says through a small bite of pie, ‘they were shouting.’

 

‘They’re not props,’ Oikawa calls as he drags himself off the floor, immediately going to push an elbow into Suga’s back. Suga starts on the floor, legs split and arm bent over.

 

‘And are they coming back in?’ Akaashi asks as he too sets himself on the floor, in front of the mirror. He frowns, looking analytically at Kenma’s reflection. Kenma slowly pulls out his phone and shuffles through his music, shrugging.

 

‘I don’t know, one of them is called Kuroo.’

 

‘At least one of us is acquainted, then.’ Suga mutters through a wince, as Oikawa puts more force onto his back. Kenma’s brow furrows, looking annoyed.

 

‘I wouldn’t call it _that_.’ He murmurs, ‘or at least not in the way you say it.’

 

Oikawa suddenly purks up, sending his elbow deep into Suga’s shoulder, gurgling out a strained yelp, as Oikawa asks ‘Did Iwa-ch—did Iwaizumi say anything? Does he still look _mad_ or constipated?’

 

Kenma slowly pops out his second ear bud, takes another mouthful of apple pie and shrugs, ‘I don’t know which one Iwaizumi was.’ Oikawa pouts and leans into Suga’s back, until Suga’s face is dangerously close to the floor.

 

‘You said you wouldn’t have a problem working with this Iwaizumi-san.’ Akaashi snaps, setting down his papers and slowly spreading his legs out, leaning forward. He gets low on the floor, still glaring at Oikawa through his reflection.

 

‘No, I did not. _Suga-chan_ said I wouldn’t have a problem.’ 

 

‘Yvoue wouldvent if youwve didnft acftf so damnvn dramfatic.’ Suga says, voice muffled as his face smushes into the floor. Oikawa puts his whole weight onto his elbow, ‘Sorry Suga-chan, you’re going to need to _speak up_.’

 

‘Quit messing around you two.’ Akaashi scolds. Suga places his chin against the floor and grumbles, finally using his free leg to shove in Oikawa’s face until he’s squawking and scurrying across the floor. Akaashi doesn’t say anything, only sighs and stretches himself out, Kenma setteling down by his side.

 

‘There’s no pole.’ Kenma mutters, reaching for his toes. Akaashi doesn’t say anything, only keeps his eyes closed and his breathes shallow.

 

‘I’ll sort out a pole for you later, be grateful we have the studio in the first place.’

 

Kenma narrows his eyes, ‘what am I suppose to do without a pole?’

 

‘There’s more to your routine than just the pole, the pole is the last of your concerns. Your foot work needs more practice.’ Akaashi states sharply, spreading his arms out forward between his legs, so his back arches centimetres away from the floor.

 

‘I like the pole.’ Kenma grumbles, choosing to lazily pull his leg towards his chest.

 

The slidy doors pull apart behind them, gaining the attention of the four as the other group slowly shuffle there way back in. One of them looks more dishevelled than before, another much more placid and one who just looks tired. The last one still seems as perky, and maybe as oblivious, as he did before.

 

‘Are you all done talking?’ Akaashi calls, ‘or do you need just another two seconds?’ Akaashi winds his body back into a sitting position, eyebrow arched sceptically. The tired looking one clears his throat awkwardly, and scratches the back of his head.

 

‘No, no we’re good. Sorry for keeping you waiting, we just had some…’ he looks over his shoulder, grimacing ‘…bugs, we needed to sort out.’

 

‘It’s fine.’ Akaashi drags himself off the floor and brushes off the dirt from his leggings, ‘I’m guessing Matsukawa-san brushed over some details, so it’s only natural for there to be some “bugs”.’

 

‘Yeah, the guy wasn’t very lenient on directions, or timing’s for that matter – ’

 

‘I was reffering to the fact that we’re all men.’ There’s a stunned pause, only broken as Suga whines from behind Akaashi.

 

‘Don’t be so blunt, Akaashi!’ Suga hisses.

 

‘Tip-toeing around it isn’t going to get any of us anywhere.’ Akaashi points out, setting his glare onto the four. ‘and if this is going to be a waste of time, then I’d rather know now than lose anymore of it.’

 

‘This isn’t a waste of time, we swear.’ The tired one says, egged on as the dishevelled one walks forward.

 

‘Yeah, yeah, we were shocked, but like not a bad shocked. It’s not your fault that you’re guys, and no one told us. It’s Matsukawa’s fault!’

 

‘It’s always Matsukawa’s fault one way or another.’ The placid one adds.

 

‘Thank you for validating my gender, I will go to bed happy knowing my masculinity is not my fault.’ Akaashi drawls sarcastically. He sighs, and places a hand on his hip, face unreadable.

‘If we’re going to do this, we need to start as soon as possible. Lets get the initial talk out the way.’ Akaashi turns, and beckons the others over. Suga climbs his way up Akaashi’s legs teasingly until he’s standing, and Kenma shuffles awkwardly. Oikawa glides over, distinctly making eye contact with no one. The placid ones eyes never move away from him, however, Akaashi catches the devotion from the corner of his eye.

 

‘Oikawa, Kenma, keep stretching. Neither of you two have done nearly enough.’

 

Kenma’s face twists into a sourer expression, and reluctantly he follows Oikawa off into the corner.

 

‘I hate stretching with Oikawa.’ Kenma mumbles. Suga rubs his nose with a frown.

 

‘Yeah, I think we all do.’

 

Akaashi and Suga sit down next to one another, facing the four boys, who crowed their backs against the wall mirror. They look oddly small, despite any of them lacking in either height or muscle, as Akaashi retrieves his coursework folder and carefully traces lines with his finger.

 

‘So,’ Akaashi begins, ‘I’m guessing Matsukawa discussed pay with you, otherwise I doubt any of you would be sitting in front of us.’ Akaashi eyes the four of them up, all of them trying not to meet his gaze directly.

 

‘Yeah, he uh, mentioned some vauge figures…’ The calm one – _Sawamura,_ Akaashi reminds himself—begins awkwardly.

 

‘3000 yens each, an hour. That’s the maximum our budget can allow.’ Akaashi waves off the sudden sound shocked spluttering and notes down the figure in a fresh page of his foulder.

 

‘I thought Matsukawa was chatting shit…’ The dishevelled one mutters.

 

‘He wasn’t, we’re using our prop budget to hire dancers instead. It’ll get us more marks for preparation and technique, maybe even iniative.’

 

‘What’s this all for anyways?’ The dishevelled one asks. Akaashi stops squibbling for a second, and looks up. He sort of just stares at Suga for a moment, who stares back. Suga just shrugs, with no answer.

 

‘Are you telling me,’ Akaashi begins slowly, ‘you all signed up to this job, without any idea what it entails? All you knew was that involved provocative dancing, and money?’

 

‘Okay when you put it like that, it sounds bad.’ Dishevelled begins, scratching at his chin. He says nothing else. Akaashi gives an exasperated sigh and points his pen in his direction.

 

‘What’s your name again?’

 

‘Kuroo, hi.’

 

Akaashi quickly scribbles down _Kenpaichi= Kuroo._ Into his notebook, and gives a dry nod.

 

‘Right, well to answer Kuroo’s question, this is for our second semester final piece. It’s worth an entire module and I’ve been designing the coagraphy since first semester, so for me this is a grade worth two modules.’ Sawamura’s eyes widen as Excited Eyebrows, sitting next to Kuroo, whistles lowly.

 

‘Yeah,’ Suga smirks, ‘it’s a _big_ deal.’

 

‘So when you say piece, I take it you mean like a dance or something?’ Iwaizumi—Oh _boy,_ does Akaashi know who Iwaizumi is—asks. Akaashi nods slowly.

 

‘It’s like three separate dancers, moulded into one bigger performance, pieced together from separate intervals. The idea was to create something that would show our ability to work and co-ordinate as a group, whilst showing off our individual skill as well. Each dancer will have around a three minute solo piece, to demonstrate their individual skills. We’ll be marked both as a group, but also as individuals. And I will be marked slightly differently, as I will not perform on the night, but will be scored on how I’ve arranged the stage and the movement.’

 

‘So, how do we fit into this?’ Excited Eyebrows asks, scratching his head and looking furowly confused. Akaashi narrows his eyes, and writes something down.

 

‘What’s your name again?’ He asks cooly.

 

‘Oh, I’m Bokuto!’

 

_Arms & brows= Bokuto. _

 

‘Well, none of the pieces are really solo pieces. So, they’re danced individually by us, but each one requires a partner. So _that’s_ where you all come in.’ Akaashi folds his legs underneath himself and slowly gets up off the floor.

 

‘We have a theme,’ Suga adds, ‘we had to pull it out of a hat and then base our piece around the theme.’

 

‘Which is…?’ Iwaizumi asks cautiously.

 

Akaashi scowls, and gives a large sigh.

 ‘It’s _love._ ’ He sounds as bitter as he looks, making a face. Suga elbows him playfully.

 

‘Akaashi wanted war.’ Suga explains.

 

‘Because War would have been interesting to choreograph and perform. Love is so, so— _cliché._ It’s been done in every media and artistic platform. But war..’ Akaashi shakes his head and gives a small shrug.

 

‘Well, we decided to have fun with what we had. So each individual part represents a different type of love, or expression of love. We’ll need three people to dance with Kenma, Oikawa and Sugawara, and then one person who I’ll use only for chorographical purposes, so I’ll need someone rather versatile and with good stamina to run over the steps of each routine. Does that make sense?’

 

‘Is this what being arrested feels like?’ Kuroo speaks up, ‘because from the amount of information being thrown at us, I feel like I’m being arrested.’  

 

Akaashi shares a look with Suga.

 

‘Kinky.’ Bokuto grins, teasing his fingers at Kuroo’s shirt.

 

And then another.

 

‘There’s nothing kinky about crime, Bokuto’. Sawamura states seriously, yanking at Bokuto’s arm, ‘and that anology didn’t even make sense.’

 

‘Are you guys always like this?” Suga grins as he gets off the floor, a hint of laughter in his voice. Sawamura almost stops dead for a second, before he quickly knocks Bokuto and Kuroo’s heads together, maybe as a punishment, maybe to distract from his blunder.

 

‘Yes.’ Sawamura finally declares. Suga’s lips tug a little higher.

 

‘So, you’re not all planning to run away yet?’ Suga continues to tease. Sawamura and Iwaizumi share a look, but both shake there heads, Kuroo and Bokuto just look scared.

 

‘We’ll show you our routines, and then we’ll see how you feel.’ Akaashi looks over at the corner where Oikawa and Kenma are ‘stretching’ (Kenma gives one of his arms a wave, pretending to stretch, whilst Oikawa plaits Kenma’s hair lazily, one leg outstretched half heartedly.) and becons them over. Oikawa reluctantly lets go of Kenma’s hair and the pair sulk over.

 

‘We’re going over the routine.’ Akaashi declares, and Kenma gives a small eye roll.

 

‘But I don’t have a pole.’

 

‘You can still do the rest of it, Kenma-san.’ Akaashi sighs, fishing his phone from his hoodie pocket and carefully placing it on the ground. He sheds the hoodie as well, leaving him a loose fitted blue top, slightly cropped at the edges. He stretches his arms up and takes in a deep breath, exposing the sides of his stomach, and then relaxes. Then, he leans down, and clicks play on his phone.

 

‘All I want you four to do is watch, and watch carefully. If you’re to do this, I’ll need you to perfect these steps to the best of your ability.’ Akaashi states calmly, although maybe slightly darker than he’d meant too. He observes the rather pale looking expressions, and then turns to Oikawa.

 

‘We’ll start with your bit.’ He turns back to look over the anticipating faces, ‘Oikawa’s bit represents miscommunicated love.’  

 

Oikawa clicks his tongues and moves forward, slinking into his steps like’s hes a fluid motion. He position himself in between Akaashi’s arms, links himself with the oas if they’re suppose to fit together. They shouldn’t, Oikawa looks to tall for the placid roll he seems to be taken, his body both straight and tender like he waterfalls into Akaashi’s touch. They’re body types are too similar as well to create a distinctive contrast. But it works, or they _make_ it work. Akaashi nods towards Suga, who has his hands curled around Akaashi’s phone. A small hum of music starts from Akaashi’s phone, with a fudding beat and pop-like undertones.

 

‘The music is a working progress.’ Akaashi deadpans, his arm slinking down against Oikawa’s back. He moves forward carefully and Oikawa arches his back away, letting his arm sweep gracefully behind his head, fingertips dancing against the floor. He scowls as Akaashi carefully takes the arm and pulls him back against him, the pair spin elegantly, like they’re one body with two sets of limbs.

 

‘Don’t move your hand so low.’ Oikawa mutters as Akaashi dips him again, this time lowering him all the way to the floor. Akaashi carefully positions himself Oikawa, but is off him in a split second and coiling Oikawa off the floor, all fluid, all in one continuous motion.

 

‘I wouldn’t have too if you kept your back _straight._ ’ Akaashi scolds, taking the other man close again as the beat picks up again. He spins Oikawa outwards, their fingers parting, as Oikawa turns it into a pirouette that lasts for almost four spins, he ends up carefully stedying himself.

 

‘I know, I know, I over-rotated.’ He holds his hands up defensively, but Akaashi only roles his eyes and turns back to the, rather pale looking, audience.

 

‘At this part, I’d chase after Oikawa, and end up picking him up.’ Akaashi observes Suga who nods in consideration.

 

‘You ditching the throw then?’ Suga asks, as he observes the coursework folder.

 

‘Not sure, see how the lift goes.’ He clicks his tongue and turns back to his audience ‘Unfortaintly, I’m not strong enough to lift Oikawa to affectively execute the movement, so choreography on that part will be a bit of improvisation to start with.’

 

‘So, any takers for that part?’ Suga chirps, clapping his hands together.

 

‘Is… that it?’ Sawamura asks weakly, maybe trying to sound confident but faultering. Suga bites at his lips, trying to disguise another laugh behind his hand.

 

‘Actually, there’s at least another thirty more seconds to Oikawa’s piece, but I’m more giving you a taste of each bit to find out what you all feel confident doing.’

 

‘… Okay.’ Sawamura’s croaks. Suga takes to chugging a water bottle to try and muffle the laughter, but only ends up making a weird girgling noise.

 

‘Right, okay, Suga, shall we try your bit?’ Oikawa gives a small sigh and plops himself back down next to Kenma, like he’s just gone for a light jog instead of doing what looks like an intense limbo match with Akaashi. Suga gives a small smile and brushes his fringe out of his eyes, pearing up at Akaashi, and pops his lips off of the bottle.

 

‘Okay’, he calls brightly, ‘would you like me to crawl in like we discussed, or just go staright into climbing up your body?’

 

Sawamura starts choking, and Iwaizumi finds himself cradling his head in his hands, trying to whipe his blush off like it’s paint.

 

‘Suga’s part represents sexual love, just to clarify.’ Akaashi declares.

 

‘I’m going to _die._ ’ Akaashi just about catches Sawamura mumbling into his knees.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOLLOW ME ON TUMBR  
> IM AKAAKEJI.TUMBLR.COM  
> VALIDATE ME  
> but for real thank u for the patience, and again i appologise for rediculously long chapters with no action and a lot of dialouge  
> i also dont know how dancing works  
> so im sorry for that too  
> im just sorry okay


	4. Grudges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘It is dreadful.’ Kuroo agrees, ‘possibly the worst thing to happen to the four of us in all of our many adventures and schemes. Which is why, it would be great if you didn’t say anything in front of the team.’ 
> 
> ‘What if we say it in tongues?’ Matsukawa queries. 
> 
> ‘Good question, let me check with the boss.’ Kuroo turns to Iwaizumi, giving his shoulder a small prod. ‘Iwaizumi-san, what if they talk about it in tongues?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *walks in almost four months later with a starbucks* i love referencing dead memes 
> 
> ok look i have nothing to say except im so sorry, if anyone is holding onto this... this one for u.  
> i have no excuse except ive worked through the summer and been exhausted, so uploading has been hard, i also lost this chapter TWICE so im not even sure if i like the end result
> 
> but hey it's 6000 words somehow ahahaha
> 
> if anyones stillreading i plan to keep going, and i hope you enjoy!!

‘Right, okay, Suga, shall we try your bit?’ Oikawa gives a small sigh and plops himself back down next to Kenma, like he’s just gone for a light jog instead of doing what looks like an intense limbo match with Akaashi. Suga gives a small smile and brushes his fringe out of his eyes, pearing up at Akaashi, and pops his lips off of the bottle.

 

‘Okay’, he calls brightly, ‘would you like me to crawl in like we discussed, or just go staright into climbing up your body?’

 

Sawamura starts choking, and Iwaizumi finds himself cradling his head in his hands, trying to whipe his blush off like it’s paint.

 

‘Suga’s part represents sexual love, just to clarify.’ Akaashi declares.

 

‘I’m going to die.’ Akaashi just about catches Sawamura mumbling into his knees.

 

Suga happily sinks down onto the floor, paused and ready to crawl seductively across the floor. Akaashi sends a sideways glance towards Daichi, who looks like he was either about to choke or throw up, and shakes his head.

 

‘No, that won’t be necessary, I wouldn’t want to _overwhelm_ anyone too quickly.’

 

Daichi feels his ears flush red and he presses his lips further against his knees. In his defence, Suga seemed ready to crawl his way through the dance routine like some sort of sniper, armed nothing but his hips and confusing sex appeal. He doesn’t look at Akaashi, and he certainly doesn’t look at Suga.

 

‘Okay!’ Suga sings, as if he wasn’t just prepared to slither seductively across the floor, ‘so just go straight in from the step sequence?’

 

Akaashi nods hastily and Suga jumps to his feet, neatly brushing off joggers and rocking on the balls of his feet looking earily innocent. With that Oikawa dutifully clicks play on the phone and the music starts up again.

 

Suga waists no time in flushing his torso against Akaashi’s, his body rolling smoothly against the others. Suga moves with a wave of confidence that had only been hinted at, bowing over as his body washes over Akaashi’s and Akaashi bends elligantly with the force. Akaashi slowly coils back and Suga coils with him, eye contact constant as the two slowly move backwards and forwards together. It takes a moment to notice it, but Akaashi isn’t leading this time, instead Suga guides the sequence with the sway of his hips and the sublte pilot of his hands as his fingers map over Akaashi’s arms, snake around his neck and collide down his chest.

 

 

 Then, as if the moment couldn’t get any _worse_ , Suga smooths his arms around Akaashi’s waists and fluidly turns his body, so now his back presses against Akaashi’s. He begins to lower himself, sliding downwards until his knees press against the floor and then Akaashi spins to face Suga. For another awful, life threatening moment, Daichi plays with the idea that they’ll stay like that, and oh _gods_ if Suga straightens his back a little—

 

Thankfully Akaashi doesn’t give Suga the chance, and instead begins to draw his own body downwards and forwards, so he slowly hovers over Suga. The control changes and Suga slowly careers along the floor on his back and hands, as Akaashi follows the movement and crawls over Suga. Until finally, _finally,_ Suga stops moving and allows Akaashi to fully lean over him, Suga’s neck slinking back into the floor and drawing his arms out, back arched.  Akaashi’s fingers crawl _under_ Suga’s shirt and slowly push him up words, until their lips almost ghost.

 

The music stops and the tension drops like a coin, shattering with Suga’s childish grin and a wink as he playfully paws at Akaashi’s top. Akaashi rolls his eyes, gets up and lets Suga flop back down on the ground with a squawk.

 

‘So that’s Sugawara-san’s bit, we’re still debating on the transition movement from the floor to back on our feet, but we can figure that out later.’ Akaashi says, his sentence pointed with Suga’s unimpressed huff.

 

Akaashi sighs and turns back around to help Suga off the floor, as Daichi prays silent ‘thank you’s’ beside Kuroo.

 

Akaashi then spins with a contemplative frown until he lands his eyes on Kenma, who sits scrunched up in the corner of the room with his DS poised between his fingers. Akaashi takes a deep breath, crosses the room, and crouches to Kenma’s level.

 

‘Kozume-san.’ He starts sternly. Kenma pears up from his game, meets eyes with Akaashi, and then quickly snags the towel from his open backpack and places it over his head. Akaashi gives another small sigh, and tentively takes the towel between his fingers and peeps underneath it.

 

‘ _Kenma,_ I’m still here you know.’ With a sigh, Kenma reluctantly pulls the towel off his head and tilts his DS screen. He doesn’t close it entirely, but it’s a working progress.

 

‘I know, I’m just pretending that _I’m not_.’

 

‘Well, you’re not doing a very good job at it.’

 

‘It would be easier if you let me put my headphones in.’ Kenma mumbles, but still snaps the DS shut and tucks it back into his bag. Instead he whips out his phone and begins to scroll through it idly. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway, because I can’t do my bit because I don’t have a pole.’

 

‘You can still do the rest of your routine; your footwork needs way more work than your pole technique anyways.’

 

‘I _like_ the pole.’ Kenma grumbles with a small scowl. Akaashi gives him a pointed look.

 

‘And you should also _like_ passing, which you won’t do if you refuse to practice.’ 

 

Kenma gives another half hearted sigh, and reluctantly pulls himself off the floor. He’s still the shortest one in the room by a long short, only emphasised by the way he curls in on himself and clings to the sleeves of his hoodie.

 

‘I don’t like doing _it_ in front of people.’ He mumbles, looking down to the floor and refusing to look Akaashi in the eyes. ‘It’s embarrassing, and practicing it will only exert energy when I don’t need too.’

 

‘Kenma, Suga-chan literally just performed soft core, amateur porn in front of us all, there’s literally nothing more embarrassing than that!’ Oikawa says, almost sincerely, as he puts an arm playfully around Suga. Who scoffs, and immediately shoves him off.

 

‘Hey! What do you mean _amateur?_ ’

 

Daichi makes another sound that sits somewhere between a whine and a gun shot wound, and Akaashi turns his attention back to Kenma. He observes the way he fidgets uncomfortably with his sleeves, the way his eyes keep darting to the four newcomers lined up against the mirror and then back to the floor.

 

Akaashi finally gives in. ‘Fine,’ he murmers, putting an encouraging hand against Kenma’s neck, ‘but you’ll have to walk your partner through it, okay?’

 

Kenma gives a small nod and slowly untangles his fingers from his sleeve, slipping his phone back into his hoodies pocket. Akaashi takes this as a small victory, and turns back to address others.

 

‘So, Kenma will perform his piece individually with his partner. Which means, for the last half an hour, you lot are actually going to _do_ something.’

 

There’s a small pause of silence, as the concept of _doing_ something settles over the group.

 

‘What, exactly are we going to do?’ Iwaizumi asks braverly.

 

‘Oh I don’t know, I thought I could get you to go and weed the patio outside the building.’ Akaashi answers dryly, ‘I’m going to partner you up with a dancer, who will teach you how to stretch and start to walk you through their routine.’

 

The four share uncomfortable glances with each other, until Akaashi gestures for them to stand up. They do, if be it awkwardly, and line up as if they’re about to suffer a painful death by gunfire.

 

‘I’m going to make decisions at this stage based on physique and statue alone, as opposed to skill. Right now, I have no idea what skill levels you are all at.’ He walks to the over side of the small studio, contemplating with a small hum.

 

‘Gardening,’ Kuroo mutters, ‘we could have done _gardening_.’

 

He stops at Kuroo on the far left, and stretches his arm out so his palm hovers over the tips of his mounted hair, slowly moving his arm out and measuring the distance between his hand and Akaashi’s own height. He nods, and then points towards Oikawa.

 

‘Kuroo, I’m partnering you with Oikawa for now.’ Akaashi declares. Kuroo blinks and nods. Akaashis waits.

 

‘Oh— what, _now_?’ Kuroo starts, and Akaashi wavers off the urge to slam his head against the wall.

 

‘Yes, _now_.’

 

Kuroo gives a curt nod, and turns to Bokuto by his side. ‘I’ll be back.’ He promises, and gives his friends bicep a squeeze before slowly moving himself across the other side of the room. He settles himself next to where Oikawa sits, and slumps down.

 

Oikawa tilts his head and frowns. ‘You’ve gone across the room, not been sent across the country.’ Oikawa states.

 

‘It feels like an eternity.’ Kuroo confirms.

 

‘You’re weird,’ Oikawa decides, ‘I haven’t figured out if that’s in a good or a bad way yet.’

 

‘Thanks.’

 

With that, Akaashi turns back to the remaining three. He looks over at Sawamura and lets his eyes glass over him. So far, he seemed to be the one most outwardly suffering through this— _new—_ experience, and decided to leave him for last. Instead he let his eyes linger on Iwaizumi, who was pointedly looking in the opposite direction away from Oikawa.

 

‘Iwaizumi,’ Akaashi says slowly, drawing Iwaizumi’s attention back over, ‘I’ve decided, for now, to partner you with Sugawara.’

 

There’s finally a crack in Iwaizumi’s expression, as Akaashi’s words wash over his now flushing skin like boiling water. He gives a small and slow nod, and quickly pulls Daichi closer to him before he stands.

 

‘Sunflowers.’ Iwaizumi murmurs in Daichi’s ear hastily, and then slowly draws himself to his feet.

 

‘ _What?’_ Daichi mouths, tugging at Iwaizumi’s tank top to draw him lower. 

‘For my funeral, my favourite flowers are sun flowers.’ He mutters back. For a minute, Daichi thinks Iwaizumi might be teasing him, but by the blossoming flush of his cheeks and the terror that settles in Iwaizumi’s eyes Daichi decides that no, he is not joking.

 

Subconsciously, Daichi and Bokuto shuffle closer to one another.

 

‘It’s okay,’ Suga calls, his legs crossed and swaying happily, ‘I don’t bite.’

 

Something in Iwaizumi’s expression tells that he doesn’t necessarily believe that, as he sits stiffly next to Sugawara. Although, it could be because this is the closest he’s been to Oikawa since entering the room, with only two people separating them.  There’s a tense pause, and Akaashi slowly turns back to the remaining two.

 

‘So, Bokuto-san, for now I’m putting you with Kenma.’

 

Kenma’s eyes widen and he observes Boktuo with a shocked experession. Boktuo gives a large wave and jumps to his feet.

‘Okay!’ He almost yells, mostly out of relief. Akaashi raises a sceptical eyebrow and Kenma flinches. Bokuto smiles sheepishly. _‘Okay._ ’ He says, quieter this time.

 

‘I’m putting you with Kozume because Kozume needs someone who mismatches overwhelmingly in physique for aesthetic purposes. We’ll see how the pare of you get on for now, okay?’ Akaashi waits for an answer, as Bokuto stares owlishly at him.

 

Daichi sighs, and puts a firm hand on Bokuto’s back.

 

‘You’re big, Kozume’s small and that’s more visually appealing.’ He explains.

 

Bokuto breaks into another enthusiastic grin and nods his head in understanding, then shuffles himself over to where Kenma sits.

 

‘So, does that mean I’m off the hook?’ Daichi asks, only half kidding. Akaashi lip quirks into an almost smile.

 

‘I’m afraid not, you’re with me.’ Daichi takes a gulp of air and waits as Akaashi comes to stand next to him, clapping his hands together.

 

‘Whoever you’re paired with for now might not be your partner for the duration of the project. We’ll see how this works for now, but be pre-warned there may be some shuffling. For the more experienced among us, your job is to slowly explain your routine and go over it as far as you can, as we discussed before hand. At the end of tomorrow’s session, I’ll evaluate how each pair has progressed.’ There’s a few uneasy nods from around the room, which is apparently the only consent Akaashi needs. Suga and Oikawa practically leap into action with Kuroo and Iwaizumi reluctantly following suit, whilst Bokuto spins round with another grin to listen to Kenma’s quiet muttering.

 

Akaashi lowers himself down next to Daichi, and scoops his folder back up off the floor.

 

‘I thought we could go over the books and formalities for now, and then tomorrow I can start going through step sequences.’ Daichi feels a sense of relief ease the tightness of his stomach, as Akaashi lays out a few pieces of paper in front of him.

 

‘Yeah sure, that’s fine.’ Daichi breathes. _More than fine_.

 

‘If we stay partnered together, your job will be to go through foot work with me. It means if I want to change a step sequence with another pair, I’ll demonstrate first with you, and try out other changes with you as we go along. Is that okay?’ Akaashi mumbles, drawing a pen from the spine of the folder. 

 

‘So I wouldn’t have to perform?’ Daichi asks cautiously.

 

Akaashi peers up and sits up straight. ‘For now, no. You don’t.’

 

Daichi can’t help but grin at that, rubbing a hand soothingly over his neck. He watches as the others begin their practice, observing as Oikawa begins to sternly guide Kuroo’s hands in the correct positon and whining everytime he places them awkwardly over the top of his hips. He feels only a _little_ guilty as his grin widens. He even dares a glance over at Suga and Iwaizumi, where Suga begins to help Iwaizumi position himself against the other. His grin drops instantly. Watching _that_ makes him feel weird, and not in the smug way watching Kuroo and Oikawa does.

 

‘You still with me?’ Akaashi chasses, although not necessarily nastily. Daichi snaps his head back, apologises, and begins his conversation with Akaashi.

 

The pair of them talk over the money aspect, where Akaashi promises a weekly payment, and Daichi scribbles down all the relivant bank details for them.

 

‘And timings?’

 

‘Well, we have volleyball practice most evenings, except on Wednesday when we have our long, half day practices from lunch until 5ish. And on Friday’s we also have practice at lunch instead of the evenings, because people go out on evenings. The only morning practice we have is Saturday, which isn’t even _really_ a morning practice since everyone sort of gets there around eleven-ish… even though it starts at ten.’ Akaashi quirks a eyebrow at that, and Daichi shrugs sheepishly. ‘They’re an unruly bunch… too say the least.’

 

At that precise moment Oikawa yelps loudly as he falls backwards, his legs tangled with Kuroo’s at the two go crashing down. Kuroo falls ungracefully on top of him, with his knee to ankle sprawled over Oikawa.

 

‘You said you could _catch_ me.’ Oikawa splutters, shoving Kuroo’s ankle out of his face.

 

‘You said on _three._ ’

 

‘I said _after_ three.’

 

‘Look, I haven’t got my glasses on.’

 

‘Having glasses does not affect your hearing!’ Oikawa whines.

 

‘Stop trying to perform moves that are above your skill level.’ Akaashi scolds, snapping the folder shut. ‘Just focus on foot work.’

 

‘I told you we’d get into trouble.’ Oikawa mumbles, Kuroo rolls his eyes and helps him up from his feet.

 

‘You were saying?’ Akaashi asks, doing well to keep the edge off his voice.

 

‘I said they’re an unruly bunch, as you can see. Basically, we can do mornings everyday except Saturday, and Sunday is our rest day.’

‘That’s fine, we’ll stick to week day mornings for now, besides on Wednesday and Sunday when we won’t meet. And if it’s possible, a practice on Friday evenings will be good as well. If there are any changes, text me.’ Akaashi gives his phone a little wave for emphasis, before slipping back down next to the closed folder.

 

‘All right, sounds doable.’

 

‘Does this mean—‘

 

‘—Kuroo-san _, I swear,_ if you put your hand there _one. More. Time.—’_

‘—does that mean we’re done for the day?’ Kuroo pleads, desperately trying to support Oikawa’s body wait and his own, with his hand sliding backwards and forwards down Oikawa’s back frantically.

 

‘Hang on, once I’ve gotten a photo.’ Daichi chides. Kuroo looks less than amused.

 

‘If you don’t say yes, I’ll drop him.’ Kuroo tries.

 

‘If he drops me, then _everyone_ in this room goes down with me.’ Oikawa threatens.

 

‘You were both a mistake.’ Akaashi declares. ‘But yes, we can call it a day.’

 

‘Oh there is a god.’ Kuroo breathes, and hastily pulls Oikawa to his feet.

 

‘That wasn’t so bad.’ Bokuto perks up, coming to join Daichi with Kenma on his heels.

 

‘Did you even do anything?’ Kuroo mumbles.

 

‘Nope!’

 

‘Remember when I said I hated you earlier? I meant it.’ Kuroo mutters; Bokuto jabbing him in the side.

 

Iwaizumi smoothly untangles himself from Suga, and ends what looked like a complicated embrace with a firm, but awkward handshake. Suga clings to Iwaizumi warmly, obviously a little amused at the gesture.

 

Just as Akaashi and Daichi let themselves believe things can end smoothly, Oikawa pipes up.

 

‘Thank _goodness._ I really needed the bathroom,’ he hums, quick to his feet, ‘I know the speech that’s about to come, someone can fill me in the details later.’ And with that he swipes his sweatshirt up and pulls it over his head, giving a single wave as he heads towards the door.

 

‘I’ll be seeing you ~’. He coos, sliding the door shut behind him. Akaashi scowls at the spot where he’d stood.

 

‘He’s avoiding something.’ Akaashi states, Suga nodding. Suga obviously tries not to glance at Iwaizumi, but still his eyes twitch towards where he stands.

 

It’s enough for Iwaizumi, and before he’s even properly thought it through his feet are moving.

 

‘Yeah, same.’ Iwaizumi grits out, snagging up his denim jacket and wrestling the sleeves back on. ‘I’ll catch you all later, Daichi can fill me in at practice this evening.’

 

‘Iwaizumi, I really don’t think that’s a good idea—’ Daichi’s voice is cut off with the firm smack of the door sliding shut. Iwaizumi isn’t even too sure which way the bathroom _is_ , but makes an intelligent guess and decides it’s got to be further down this corridor, since they hadn’t seen on yet. He follows it with purpose, even without really knowing what he’s going to _do_. All he understands is that he needs to see him, even if he doesn’t say anything, he needs to see it for himself.

 

He’s met with a bathroom sooner than expected, and with a firm push and a blank mind he nudges the door open. It slams on it’s hinges against the plaster wall, and reveals a stunned looking Oikawa bent over the sink. He jumps at the noise, disturbing the water he’d run into the basin, it sloshes over the side and dribbles down.

 

Oikawa looks over Iwaizumi with a panicked expression, that seeps into something echoing regret.

 

‘Iwa-chan…’ he begins, but is firmly cut off with an agitated sigh.

 

‘Don’t call me that, you have no _right_ to call me that.’ Oikawa flinches slightly at the harshness, but once recovered draws himself to his full height and sets his jaw firmly. He’s somehow even taller than the last time Iwaizumi saw him, and maybe a tad thinner. His arms muscle had certainly become softer, probably from a lack of over use.

 

‘Just, just don’t say anything.’ Iwaizumi mutters, stumbling into the bathroom. Oikawa doesn’t move as Iwaizumi sets himself against one of the stall dividers. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and hisses out: ‘How long?’

 

‘How long, what?’ Oikawa replies, cautiously.

 

‘How long have you known we’ve attended the same university?’ Iwaizumi peers from behind his fingers and dares to catch Oikawa’s eye in the mirror. He looks a mess, with red cheeks from finding himself pressed against Suga for so long. Oikawa’s face is flushed too, and waters droplets cascade from his forehead and over his lips.

 

‘Not long.’

 

‘Don’t lie to me. Don’t even _try_ lying to me.’ Iwaizumi takes a step forward. ‘How, long?’

 

Oikawa moves his hands and carefully slides them over the edge of the basin. He looks away from Iwaizumi’s piercing stair and ducks his head low.

 

‘I’ve only attend the university for a year and a bit. I’m only a second year, Sugawara and I both took foundation dance courses at another university before entering here.’

 

‘That doesn’t answer the question.’

 

‘I’m telling you I’ve known as long as I’ve been here.’ Oikawa lets go of the basin and roughly pushes himself away, hands tangled in his hair and eyes firmly shut. He breathes out: ‘I’m letting you know I haven’t known for the two and a bit years _you’ve_ been here. Which was what you were really asking.’

 

Oikawa grips his hands together, desperately finding something to do with himself as he’s pinned with Iwaizumi’s stare.

 

‘And not once, you thought to come and find me?’ Oikawa’s eyes are still closed, and he doesn’t say anything. Iwaizumi finds himself hovering on the balls of his feet, yanking at his jacket to busy his own hands. There’s an awful, unforgivable feeling of relief that settles under the fury.

 

‘I did, and I tried too.’ Oikawa finally murmers, slowly staring through his long lashes. ‘I just, didn’t even know were to begin.’

 

‘I don’t care where the hell you would’ve begun. I just would have cared to see you, to just—know you’re okay. Why, even now, are you so damn selfish?’

 

Oikawa seems to snap at that, jeering his head to the side and letting his lips curl heatedly.

 

‘Why do you always play the innocent one in this? It always takes two to _tango,_ Iwa-ch— _Iwaizumi._ There is no innocent party, you blew up as much as I did.’ Oikawa lets his hands drop to his size and balls into his fist. He shakes his head, finally daring to look Iwaizumi in the eye.

 

‘Do you know how many times I _wanted too_? Do you know how many times I wanted to find you, see you—but neither of us left this on a good note. I had no idea where I stood—when Mattsun said it was you, I didn’t even know what to _do_. I just prayed you wouldn’t show up.’

 

‘Sorry to disappoint you, Oikawa.’ Iwaizumi lashes, his words hitting Oikawa hard enough to break eyes again. Oikawa rubs his hands over his face, breathing heavily.

 

‘We need,’ Oikawa takes another large gulp of air, ‘we need to be _civil_. For this to work.’

 

‘What do your friends know?’ Iwaizumi finds himself with his arms folded and his hands digging into his own sides.

 

‘They know a little about you, I couldn’t help but mention you after I’d seen you at the garage—’

 

‘It was you who hit me with the led piping, wasn’t it?’ Iwaizumi barks. Oikawa doesn’t say anything, but skirts his shoe across the floor. It’s almost funny, the whole situation borderlines some cruel version of comedy. Iwaiumi isn’t sure if he should laugh or cry, so instead takes to slamming a fist against the stall. Oikawa doesn’t even flinch this time, instead he clicks his tongue, like he stands in a place where he can be critical at Iwaizumi’s anger.

 

‘Was that your attempt at _reconciliation?’_ Iwaizumi spits. Oikawa throws his arms up in the air dramatically.

 

‘I just can’t win, can I?’ Oikawa sighs.

 

‘No, you sure as hell _can’t._ And if you think this is a situation you can win, one of your little _games,_ then by God you’re somehow a shittier person than from when I last saw you.’

 

Oikawa laughs at that, although it comes out choked and laced in something bitter. He shakes his head as if it’s genuinely the funniest thing in the world, the bathroom light begins to flicker.

 

‘Lets just agree to be civil, alright? Even a brute like you can manage that.’

 

‘Still calling people names, huh? You really haven’t changed.’

 

‘Oh believe me, I have.’ There’s something in the way that Oikawa says it that makes Iwaizumi’s heart hurt, like it’s trying to crawl it’s way up his throat. It makes him realise that he needs to get out of there _now_ , before he says something he truly doesn’t mean and will _really_ regret.

 

‘I can be civil, but only for their sakes, not for yours. Not for _our_ sake. _’_ Iwaizumi grits out, he doesn’t really wait for Oikawa to say anything. He doesn’t want to have to hear that tone, that icy tone of his, pointed at him again.

 

He’d seen Oikawa use that tone with others before, he’d seen him tare down relationships with the simple quiver of his voice. It was strange, and wrong, to hear him be on the receiving end. Too think that, after everything, this could be the ending note of their friendship was near to disturbing. The cliffhanger that maybe should have never been solved, for Iwaizumi could feel himself tittering over the edge.

 

He walks past Oikawa, makes sure not to touch him, and out of the bathroom door. This time the door weakly falls shut behind him, and Iwaizumi finds himself about two doors away with his forehead pressed against the wall. His hands are now balled into his tank top, and his eyes flutter shut. The burning desire to _touch him_ still tingled on his finger tips.

 

‘I didn’t mean it.’ He whispers, because he didn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Maybe, they share the same ex-girlfriend.’

 

‘Kuroo, I appreciate the company, but I really don’t feel comfortable discussing Iwaizumi’s past without him present.’ Daichi murmurs as he fiddles with the common rooms key pad. ‘And besides, Iwaizumi doesn’t seem the type of guy to hold as bigger grudge over that sort of thing.’

 

‘No, it’s also my least interesting explanation. A scandalous event, either involving murder of forbidden love, is my best bet.’

 

Daichi only rolls his eyes and pushes the door open. The History Common Room was sparse at this time of day, with only the two students crowded over the laptops and few left over books.

 

‘He also doesn’t seem like a murderer. If I’d pin anyone down to the murderous type it’d be you.’ Daichi walks over to his pigeon whole and retrieves the various pieces of paper that had been left there by professors, scanning them idly.

 

‘Sawamura, I’m _offended_. The only killing I’m known for is my killer good looks and my murderous algebra.’

 

‘That’s the dorkiest thing you’ve ever said. I’ll make sure to have it written on your grave stone.’

 

‘You better, Sawamura.’

 

Daichi clucks his tongue as he stuffs the various papers into his bag, until left in his hand is a small plastic wallet. Curiously he peaks inside, wandering what awful professor left him a _wallet_ through of homework, only to pale at his contents.

 

‘Oh _no._ ’ Daichi groans, slapping the folder against his head. It catches the attention of the girl studying near by, who blinks at him curiously. She then looks at Kuroo with a thrown that says _comfort him!!_

 

‘What? What’s wrong?’ Kuroo asks, intelligently.

 

‘ _I’m tweam captfian._ ’ Daichi’s moan is muffled by the wallet, so as a way of explanation he holds out the wallet to Kuroo and replaces it with his hand against his brow. Kuroo peaks inside, and his eyes widen at the first document.

 

‘Oh jeez, you’re Team Captain.’

 

‘I know,’ Daichi lets out another large sigh, ‘I totally forgot.’

 

‘How did you _forget_ that you’d been appointed team captain?’ Kuroo scoffs.

 

‘We’ve been so _busy_ , and Ukai-sensei had only mentioned it in passing. I forgot to check my pigeon hole for the past few days, so the notes have probably been there for a while.’

 

Kuroo pulls out some more of the documents and scans them sceptically, adjusting his glasses a little. ‘Oh wow, this literally all the results of who got what role in the club in it.’

 

‘Practice hasn’t even started yet and I’m already a terrible captain.’ Daichi announces glumly, ‘do I dare ask who got Social Secrete for the club?’

 

Kuroo combs through the papers, and whinces. ‘You’re not going to like it.’ He mutters, and pats Daichi on the back sympathetically. ‘Congratulations?’

 

‘ _Why_.’ Daichi moans and drags his hands down his face.

 

‘These are the philosophical questions that plague us.’ Kuroo sighs, only with a nod of understanding.

 

The pair glumly trudge towards the schools gym, robotically make their way to the front desk and show their University ID’s. From there they take the familiar root towards the dedicated changing rooms for the volleyball team. Thankfully only Iwaizumi, Bokuto, Matsukawa and Hanamaki sit inside the changing rooms. The latter three seem enthralled with what’s on Matsukawa’s phone and sit in a huddle on one of the benches, Hanamaki looking like he’s internally suffering a near death experience.

 

‘If you truly cared for me, you won’t do what you’re about to do.’ Hanamaki tries, eyes still glued to Matsukawa’s phone.

 

‘I’m doing this _because_ I care for you.’ Matsukawa says dead seriously, flicking something on his phone that makes Hanamaki’s expression go from distraught to hopeless.

 

‘Hi, Captain.’ Iwaizumi greets dryly.

 

‘Hi, Vice-Captain.’ Daichi replies, voice just as monotone. He slips his gym back onto the floor and plunks down next to Iwaizumi. ‘Did you forget too?’

 

‘How could I fufill my daily existence as a disappointment if I didn’t?’ Iwaizumi laments, letting out a rather large sigh for someone so young. ‘I would not rate this day.’

 

There’s a chorus of pings coming from various different phones, as Iwaizumi and Daichi reach for their phones in chorus.

 

‘Hanamaki,’ Daichi starts cautiously, ‘what am I looking at?’

 

‘The witness of my death.’ Hanamaki deadpans, ‘I am ready to enter the next realm.’

 

‘I thought this photo might cheer up your seriously depressing day, I have more if the situation is that dier.’ Matsukawa contently sways the phone in front of Kuroo.

 

Kuroo dutifully retrieves his glasses from his head, peers at the phone screen and nods.

 

‘Art.’ He christens the photo.

 

‘I posted it on the volleyball group chat, for all too see.’ Matsukawa declares.

 

‘Truly, you are doing God’s work.’ Hanamaki mutters sourly, although his lips still tug into a lazy grin when Matsukawa nudges his shoulder.

 

‘Well, you can thank the brave veterans in front of you for my requiring of these relics.’

 

Hanamaki stares blankly at Matsukawa for a second, and then spins to look at Boktuo and Kuroo, who have started to get changed, and then gapes at Iwaizumi.

 

‘No _. Way_.’

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘Matsukawa, that is _evil_.’

 

‘I know.’

 

Hanamaki still looks a little dishevelled at the information, before he blurts out ‘How poor _are_ you guys?’

 

‘Well I wanted to _strip_ , but apparently somehow this is better.’ Kuroo mutters sourly.

 

‘Killing people, for money, is wrong. However.’ Bokuto adds, just for good measure.

 

‘But it’s fine if it’s not for money?’ Matsukawa questions.

 

Bokuto considers this a moment, with his arms still stuck in his sweater. He then decides, as the beacon of all hope and authority that: ‘no, killing people is always wrong.’

 

‘This dreadful, I even considered asking you guys if you’d do it. But I thought that would be to cruel to even put the idea in your heads.’ Hanamaki shakes his head, ‘Matsukawa, how desperate where you for these photos?’

 

‘It is dreadful.’ Kuroo agrees, ‘possibly the worst thing to happen to the four of us in all of our many adventures and schemes. Which is why, it would be _great_ if you didn’t say _anything_ in front of the team.’

 

‘What if we say it in tongues?’ Matsukawa queereries.

 

‘Good question, let me check with the boss.’ Kuroo turns to Iwaizumi, giving his shoulder a small prod. ‘Iwaizumi-san, what if they talk about it in tongues?’

 

‘I’m not talking to either of them, so they can both suck my ass.’

 

‘Okay, well second-in-command is currently unavailable, so I’ll check with Top Dog.’ Kuroo spins, opens his mouth and is abruptly cut off.

 

‘No.’ Daichi states firmly. ‘No talking about it, _what. So. Ever._ ’

 

‘If _certain_ members get hold it, we’ll never live it down. And I’m already having one hell of a day and I can’t promise to be patient if people test my patience.’ Iwaizumi growls.

 

‘Murder, is wrong.’ Bokuto reminds him, placing a hesitant but comforting hand over Iwaizumi’s. His hand sits over his kit bag, which he hadn’t even realise was suffering a death grip as his knuckles kurled against its strap. Iwaizumi makes a conscious effort to ease himself off it, and lets out another pent up breath.

 

‘Yeah, you’re right. I’m being shit, and I know I am. I just need a moment.’ Bokuto gives his friend another sympathetic smile, and then finally decides to pull his jersey shirt over the top of his head.

 

‘Iwaizumi, for real, I’d never have recommended the job to you guys if I’d known about you and Oikawa—I thought he just had a crush or something, that’s all.’

 

‘I know, I know, and I don’t really blame you, Matsukawa. I just—’ Iwaizumi gives a small shrug, and turns his back, ‘ _really_ don’t want to talk about it.’

 

‘And it’s probably a good idea that we stop talking about it, anyways.’ Daichi hushes, motioning towards the door.

 

As if on queue, the door bursts open in a blur of limbs and anguished cries. Hinata _just_ about gets a foot in over Kageyama, who is insistent on cramming the other into the edges of the door frame.

 

‘Would you just _piss off_ —’

 

‘Not until you get your _foot_ out of my _ass, Hinata Boke—’_

‘It wouldn’t be _there_ if you weren’t crushing my _foot_ with your stupid _butt_ you _dick_ —‘

 

‘Why do you two swear as if you’ve only just discovered it’s legal?’ Kuroo drawls, with a cocked eyebrow. The two snap their heads up, shocked to find they’re not alone, and promptly collapse in on themselves in the doorway.

 

‘Because they only just have.’ Tsukishima grumbles, casually stepping over the two. ‘They’ve been bickering the whole way, until they decided the only way to decide who was truly OP in _OverWatch_ was to race.’

 

‘ _Tsukki,_ my boy, I didn’t even think you’d come back! I missed you so much.’ Kuroo coos, running over to tossle Tsukishima’s hair and engulf him in an obnoxious hug. Tsukishima scowls through the experience, only shoving him off when Bokuto joins in with the perstering.

 

‘Im not here because of _you._ I came back when I heard a rumour that Sawamura-san got the captainship.’ He plants his bag down in the furtherest corner, and bites of his shoulder. ‘He’s the only person whose leadership I could _bare_.’

 

‘We were really happy too when we found out, Daichi-san!’ Hinata sings as he leaps to his feet. Despite himself, he still helps drag Kageyama off the floor. ‘I was over the sun.’

 

‘How did you two even get into the university?’ Tsukishima mutters bitterly.

 

‘Sports Scholarship.’ The two chorus. Bokuto comes over and slaps the pair on the back, bringing them under his arms.

 

‘That’s my boys!’

 

‘Go fish.’ Tsukishima mutters under his breath.

 

‘Where’s Yamaguchi?’ Daichi surfaces from under his jersey, giving Tsukishima a pointed look. Tsukishima fidgets under his gaze, and gives a small shrug.

 

‘He doesn’t want to come back. He feels like he doesn’t contribute to the team, and that he’s pointless.’ Tsukishima fiddles with his shoe laces, head bowed under Daichi’s gaze. ‘I’m working on it.’ He mumbles, honestly.

 

‘You better be, I want my Pinch Server back, and if you don’t tell him _I’ll_ be chasing him.’

 

‘Don’t worry, Daichi-san, _we’re_ back!’ The door bursts open for a second time to reveal no other than Tendou and Terushima, who insist on dramatically throwing their arms out as they enter the room. Terushima throws himself at Tendou, who catches his leg and twizzles him around earily elegantly.

 

 _Perhaps they should take our place_. Daichi thinks bitterly, having to bite back a souerer grin.

 

‘No, it’s okay you guys don’t have too.’ Iwaizumi deadpans, partially meaning it.

 

‘How could we not when we heard our _favourite_ Senpai’s got the captainship and vice-captainship!’ Terushima sings, plonking his stuff down and immediately jumping on top of the bench.

 

‘The Teams Mum and Dad, now the _official_ Mum and Dad of the team.’ Tendou sinks into Terushima’s torso, who wraps his arms around his shoulders and swings happily.

 

‘Would you two _stop that,_ and don’t call us that!’ Iwaizumi snaps, ‘If you two keep playing up you’ll be banned from after practice meet ups for a month.’

 

‘Already getting grounded on the first day, gosh I love my parents so much.’ Terushima leans over Tendou, whipping away fake tear. ‘So stern, so inspiring, so grateful for my life.’

 

‘He’s being serious, and it would be a shame if the new _Social Secretes_ got banned from after club activities.’ Daichi says slyly, and watches with a sense of satisfaction as the pair stop dead in their tracks.

 

‘You mean we got the position?’ Terushima practically squeals, hopping off of Tendou’s shoulders and vibrating beside him.

 

‘Yeah, you both did. Congratulations you got one vote each.’ Iwaizumi stuffs his things into his kit bag and bites back the temptation to be more bitter. Tsukishima snorts in the corner.

 

‘Terushima-san, that’s _so cool!’_ Hinata buzzes, ‘you guys are the most social people I know!’

 

‘Hinata, we’re all going to get _so_ wasted.’

 

‘No we’re not.’ Daichi barks, ‘half the team are still under age.’

 

‘Dude, are you ready to get wasted?’ Terushima turns to Tendou, with Hinata wedged under his arm.

 

‘Dude, I’m already wasted.’ Tendou smirks.

 

‘Then you’re going home, and me and Daichi will deffinetly ban you from the _club_ itself for a month. Or forever. Depends how much you piss me off.’

 

‘Practice still doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes,’ Daichi whispers into his socks, ‘and I’m already exhausted.’   Sadly, his socks do not hold the answers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes last sip of starbucks* im a disappointment

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry, my friends, for so much dialogue. i have nothing to say as to why, besides i find it easy to write. they just talk a lot idk


End file.
